


Author Commentary for Roots and Anchors

by kawherp



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Author Commentary, Developing Friendship, Drama and Romance, F/M, Friendship, Mild Language, POV Original Character, Past Abuse, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 21:12:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 82,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7523311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawherp/pseuds/kawherp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I blame Nyxelestia for everything.</p><p>I have been reading Frost Bite, an excellent Captain America / Teen Wolf crossover. Despite having never watched Teen Wolf, I got sucked into the story. And then I got sucked into the commentary. What a neat idea! If no one ever reads it, I don't care; blame Nyxelestia. If you enjoy commentary, here it is; thank Nyxelestia. :-)</p><p>I assume you have read the whole story, so will make spoiler type comments without additional warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Commentary for Chapters 1-4 (Lunchroom meeting through Dinner)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Author Commentary: Frost Bite](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6155278) by [Nyxelestia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxelestia/pseuds/Nyxelestia). 



**All of my commentary will be in bold.**

Author’s notes:

I have written fanfic for over 20 years but not in this fandom and never on a site not under my own control. However, after watching the Marvel Universe movies with my husband, a plot bunny invaded my head and insists on being recorded. I have hopes that it will not become the epic saga so many of my stories turn into. It is not complete, and I have no set schedule of when I’ll add updates, but I will do my best to update it regularly and finish it in a timely fashion.

**Ha. Pardon me while I fall down laughing at my naiveté. I _have_ successfully written short stories, and even published them in other fandoms. But I tend to write epic sagas. I never start out that way, it just happens. **

**As far as how long I’ve been writing, I have notebooks from when I was nine and fixing stories I’d read in comic books. Back in those pre-internet stone ages, I had no idea I was not alone in my need to repair the work of paid writers. It’s been longer than twenty years since I first decided the professionals had no idea what they were doing, but I started the “clock” with when I started sharing my ramblings with others.**

This is set before _Winter Soldier._

*****

Megan took a deep breath as she tucked her wallet back into her purse and picked up her tray, scanning the cafeteria for a spot to sit down and eat lunch. Steeling herself, she headed towards the end of the farthest table and the lone figure that sat there. “Mind if I join you?” she asked shyly.

**Starting a story is hard. I often write two to three chapters and end up chopping them off later. I seem to need the warm-up. In this case, however, I started with their initial meeting and didn’t have to delete pages of background. Miracles never cease.**

Blue eyes looked up at her in surprise and he shook his head once, gesturing to the seat across from him as he continued to chew his food.

“You’re braver than I am,” Megan said as she gestured at his plate. “I couldn’t tell what that was supposed to be. I figure they couldn’t mess up a salad even though I’ll be starving in an hour and raiding the vending machines shortly thereafter.” She eyed it cautiously, “So… what is it?”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure, but it tastes better than it looks.”

“It wouldn’t be hard.” Stretching her hand out to him, she smiled and said, “I’m Megan.”

“Steve,” he answered shaking her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Steve.” Megan lowered her eyes and watched him with her peripheral vision while she focused on her food. “Some assembly required,” she muttered under her breath as she opened various packets and spread the contents on her salad. “I can’t believe S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t have a proper salad bar so we don’t have to wrestle with all these packages.”

“Nat’s theory is that the packets are a test of how patient we are.”

Megan smiled, glancing up at him. “Clearly, I have failed that test. I need to make time to go shopping tonight and go back to packing my lunches. Overpriced mystery glop and stress tests are _not_ what I had in mind for lunch.”

“If you usually pack, that would explain why I haven’t seen you here before.”

“I’m new, and temporary at that. It’s only my second week here and yes, I’ve been eating my lunch elsewhere and reading at my desk until my hour is up. I’d rather just go back to work after I eat and leave earlier, but the boss insists we have to take the hour. I understand she doesn’t make the rules, but that doesn’t mean I have to like them.” Megan mentally slapped herself for rambling and put her attention back on her plate. 

“Eating together can build camaraderie,” Steve offered.

“Says the man I found eating by himself,” Megan countered, looking pointedly at all the empty seats that were around them.

Steve ducked his head, blushing slightly as he took another bite of food.

“You’re right, you know,” Megan admitted. “But for a shy introvert, it’s also _really_ hard to get to the point where you’re comfortable enough to build camaraderie.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up. “ _You’re_ shy?”

Megan nodded. “On my way down here, I was sure I was going to throw up. But I set a goal of eating lunch with other people at least once a week. And I’ll probably use every strategy in my arsenal to survive it. Being the new kid in town is really hard for me. I don’t mind being alone. But I’m alone too much these days and the only way I can change that is to force myself out of my comfort zone. Since I moved to D.C., I haven’t made any new friends and I know that’s not good. So with this new job, I figured I’d start with lunch once a week and go from there. It can’t get any harder with practice and I’m praying it gets easier.”

“You’ve cleaned every corner of your apartment and read to fill the hours between getting home and going to bed,” Steve said softly, his eyes confessing and asking at the same time.

“You turn on the TV just to hear someone talk and shut it off in disgust it’s so stupid. Music can help, but sometimes it feeds the bad mood. Weekends off are the worst...”

“…because you have two whole days to fill,” he finished for her.

“It’s pathetic.” She ate another bite then smiled at him. “I’m shy; what’s your excuse?”

Steve shook his head with a soft smile of his own, “Lunch isn’t long enough to list them all.“

“Challenge accepted,” Megan shot back. “Celebrity status, very inconvenient. You can’t know if they want your autograph or are waiting to ask for a picture. That’s just here. Out in public has to be worse since they didn’t get the “Avoid the Hero Worship” talk at orientation. Add in a huge helping of Everything’s Changed, and you end up deciding staying home is easier. Irregular work hours? Makes it hard to join any clubs or take any classes. How am I doing?”

“They talk about me at orientation?”

Megan nodded, noting his look of horror. “You get a whole slide in the unending PowerPoint presentation. But you take a good picture, so at least we had that to look at. Most of the other slides were full of words. And then they pretty much read the slides to us after giving us packets with them all preprinted. I _hate_ that. I’ll shut up before I give you my 10-minute rant about how PowerPoint is abused by most presenters. But yes, they talk about you at orientation.” Megan gestured to the empty chairs. “Do you want me to suggest they add a second slide about not treating you like a pariah?”

**PowerPoint is the most abused presentation software ever invented. The single best PowerPoint I have ever seen is Al Gore’s Inconvenient Truth. Set aside any political leanings and look at the presentation for a moment. There are no words on the slides. He presents visuals that support and clarify what he is saying. That is how a good presentation works. Certainly there are times when words are useful. Slide titles, labels for data sets, identification of different sorts… those are often helpful words to include. But when a slide is full of paragraphs of text that a “presenter” then reads to me, I mentally shut down. If they wanted to have me read the presentation, pass me the handout and leave me alone. If you want me to listen to the speaker, the speaker needs to stop competing with himself by giving me lots of text to read. Yes, I have a Thing about PowerPoint. Megan has the same issue. I wonder why?**

Steve’s eyes widened in alarm, “No! Even one slide about me is too many. Still, it does explain some things I’ve noticed.” He studied her intently before taking another bite. “Why didn’t it keep you away?”

Megan pointed at herself, “Shy introvert. I told you I’m using every trick in my arsenal.” His gaze was still puzzled, so she continued, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but one way I cope is trying to find someone who looks more miserable than I feel and talking to them.”

**My other coping method is finding a way to be useful. Is there a kid who needs to be entertained so a frazzled parent gets a breather? Is the host/hostess in need of an extra pair of hands? Do you want me to take pictures for you? Please, give me a job or I’ll find myself a job. I’ll do _anything_ to avoid mingling in a room full of strangers. **

Steven nodded thoughtfully, “I’ll have to try that sometime.”

“You’d be surprised how well it works. It doesn’t fix the nausea ahead of time, but at least I’m keeping food down.”

“You said you’re only here temporarily. What do you do?”

“I’m a molecular biologist. I can’t talk about the projects I’m working on, but basically, I tinker in the lab all day. My background is mainly with viruses, but I’ve also had some experience working with bacteria. I came in through a temp agency for an expansion in the biology division. With any luck, in 3 months they’ll decide they want to hire me full time and I decide I like working here. Until then, it pays the bills and gives me more experience to put on my resume. Beats doing the traditional postdoc.” She shrugged and took another bite.

“What’s a postdoc?”

“Generally, you work in an academic lab under the supervision of another professor to prove you can do independent work. You have a lot of pressure to publish results and even get your own grants in a two to three year time frame. But the pay is lousy and the hours are insane. Universities are producing too many Ph.D. graduates, so often employers require at least one and sometimes two postdocs before they’ll hire you for a ‘real’ job. I refuse to play their game. I’m ready to have a bit of a life.”

“If there are too many graduates, why do the schools keep admitting students to their programs? That doesn’t make sense.” Steve shook his head. He rubbed his forehead, “Everything today is so complicated.”

“Not really. It all comes down to money. Universities rely on the money the professors bring in from grants. To get the grants, the professors have to get a lot of publications. That means you need a small army of researchers doing all the work. The least expensive researchers are graduate students.” Megan shrugged. “Money makes the world go round. Are you saying it didn’t used to be like that?”

“Money and power always go together. It’s just when I was growing up… maybe I just understood it better.”

“So, where did you grow up? City kid or country boy?”

“You haven’t read my biography? I thought it was required reading of all S.H.I.E.L.D employees,” Steve gave her a wry smile.

“Nope,” Megan laughed and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I have a stack of books by my bed but I don’t have a single book about you in it. I hope that doesn’t permanently damage your fragile ego.”

Steve pretended to think carefully for a moment before replying, “I’ll manage somehow.”

“Whew. For a minute there, I was afraid I was going to lose my job!”

“It won’t affect you, but I am going to find out why my life story isn’t required reading for all new hires. Someone hasn’t been doing their job.”

“Don’t give them any ideas! They’ll probably take the thickest book and turn it into another PowerPoint presentation. I can see it now.” She shuddered. “They’ll have to add a whole wing to the medical division to handle all the new concussion cases.”

“Concussions?”

“Everyone will either fall out of their chairs in a stupor or bang their heads on their desk to end the suffering. I was about five minutes from the latter as it is. Please, don’t pursue this. I’m begging you!”

*****

Megan’s step was light as she walked back to the lab section of S.H.I.E.L.D. The longer they had chatted over lunch, the more Steve had opened up and kidded around with her. They’d kept the conversation light, talking about favorite books, orientation by HR, and the hazards of cafeteria food. When it had been time to put their trays away, Steve had taken hers and asked her if she’d join him for lunch tomorrow. He’d then suggested they each bring a favorite book for the other to read. She’d immediately agreed and was actually looking forward to going home this evening so she could paw through her bookshelves and pick something to lend him.

“Dr. Buchwald?”

A deep voice pulled her to the present and she turned to find a man in military uniform striding towards her. “Yes?”

“Just what do you think you were doing back there in the cafeteria?” He scowled at her as he stopped in front of her, closer than most would find polite.

“Eating lunch.” Megan raised her eyebrow in her best Spock imitation. “Is there a problem? I’ll be back to my station well before my lunch hour is up and I’ve been told that the lunch break is mandatory.” Something about him set her on edge, but she refused to step backwards. If he thought crowding her a bit was going to intimidate her, he’d never gone to graduate school.

“You need to be very careful about the company you keep and the message it sends.”

“The company I keep? Mister… Ross,” Megan read his last name off of his uniform and avoided any mention of rank. She knew nothing about reading uniform insignia and didn’t want to insult him by using the wrong title. “I ate lunch in the at S.H.I.E.L.D cafeteria with another employee. The message it sends is that I am trying to build professional relationships outside of my department. In the civilian world, we call that networking and being cordial.”

His stern look became a sneer. “And you just happened to start with Captain America?”

“Correct.” She kept her gaze as neutral as possible, and mentally counted seconds. When she reached sixteen, he finally broke the uncomfortable silence.

“I’m watching you, Dr. Buchwald. Don’t forget it.”

“Noted,” Megan replied blandly. “Will you be joining me in the ladies room?” she added, pointing to the door they were standing beside as she moved to open it. She paused to allow him to answer but he just glared at her and took a step back. “Well then, good day.” Megan slipped inside and darted into the first available stall. Maybe she’d read too many spy novels, but after only seven work days at S.H.I.E.L.D., she was already uncomfortable in her new job for reasons she couldn’t always put her finger on. Mr. Ross’s veiled threat was just the latest incident. The only question was what, if anything, she was going to do about it.

**If only I could get away being as mouthy as Megan is. My mind definitely _thinks_ these things, but I have a stronger sense of self-preservation than Megan does and generally resist the urge to say them. **

*********

The following Wednesday, Megan sank heavily into the seat across the lunch table from Steve. “Can you give me a crash course in reading uniform ranks?”

 **I don’t envy anyone in the military when it comes to learning to read ranks and remembering the pecking order and protocols. What I’ve read made my head spin.**  

He smiled at her when he looked up and saw who had joined him, “Sure. But why?”

“Because the next time I get into it with Mystery Rank Ross, I want to use all the proper titles when I tell him to take a long walk off of a short plank,” she explained as she opened up her thermos and unfolded the spoon that was packed into the lid. The smell of the soup filled her nostrils and she savored it for a long moment. She’d made it last night and it was hot and filling and good… the perfect meal for a blustery winter day.

“You mean General Ross? He’s here?” Steve’s eyes scanned the room surreptitiously though he didn’t turn his head or otherwise indicate he was less than totally focused on his conversation with Megan.

“I don’t know if he’s a general or not,” she said between bites. “Older guy, about your height, blue eyes, grey hair, mustache, bad attitude.” She left out the adjectives of disturbing, overbearing, and arrogant.

“Give me second.” Steve got out his phone, pulled up a photo from a recent newspaper article, and showed it to her with one hand before taking another bite of what was supposed to be spaghetti with the other.

**I don’t buy the idea of Steve being a buffoon when it comes to tech. He’s smart. He’s determined. He thinks on his feet. I see him picking up on using tech very quickly, except for the things that frustrate all of us. How many remote controls do you need to watch a show on a TV that has Every Single Game System attached to it? Yeah, I admit to being unable to use our downstairs system since it’s more like NASA mission control than anything else. But smart phones, computers, and tablets? I see Steve being all over those. And I’ll bet money Natasha will teach him basic hacking, too, once they get closer and develop a level of trust.**

“That’s him.” Megan shuddered a bit. “He gives me the creeps. I can’t put my finger on it, but every time he talks to me, I feel like I need to go take a hot shower to get the grime off. I passed him in the corridor on the way down here and he gestured with this fingers that his eyes were on me.”

“How often do you see him?” He was studying her with those worried blue eyes.

“This is the third time in less than 2 weeks. I’m still trying to figure out why he knew my name. I’m new. I’m temporary. So why all the interest in me and who I’m eating lunch with?”

“He pestered you about sitting with me?” Steve sighed and lowered his voice. “Stay away from him as much as you can. I’ll see what I can do.”

Megan shook her head. “You don’t have to do anything. I’ve dealt with grumpy old men with ego issues before. He’s just compensating for other deficiencies, which I may point to him next time he starts in on me.” She smiled and took another bite of her soup.

“Megan, don’t antagonize him. I can’t tell you more than that. But for your own sake, try not to annoy him.”

She looked at him and studied his furrowed brow and the concern he couldn’t hide. He had a face like hers that showed every thought. It was a good thing he wasn’t a spy. Given his background, if he was worried, he had reason to be. She chewed on her lower lip, and then nodded. “Okay. On one condition.”

“What?”

“You come over Sunday afternoon for dinner. When I went grocery shopping last night, I splurged on a huge roast that was on sale. I could sure use some help eating it.”

Seeing his surprise and hesitation, she added, “Look, I’m not hitting on you. I’m fresh out of a breakup and still getting my head on straight. But I get tired of eating alone. It’s pot roast, not a marriage proposal. Besides, when’s the last time you had homemade post roast?”

“Christmas Day, 1941,” his gaze grew distant as he looked over her shoulder and into his past. “Bucky’s mom wanted to have a fancy meal for Christmas just in case…” his voice trailed off before he focused back on her again. “ In case he didn’t come home from the war. She went all out. I hope that gave her comfort when we lost him.”

Megan absorbed that for a moment. The pain Steve was feeling was palpable. Retracing the invitation wasn’t going to help ease it, either. You didn’t get over that sort of loss; you just learned to live with it. Steve was still learning how to do that. “Well, I can’t promise I’m as good of a cook as Bucky’s mom was. But I do know how to make a pie. What’s your favorite kind?”

“You don’t have to–”

“I want to. I can narrow it down if you want: apple, pumpkin, lemon meringue, or chocolate. Pick one.”

“Just one?” he teased. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, but he was trying. 

Megan rolled her eyes. “Pick two. But you have to promise to take some home with you.”

“Pumpkin and apple. But you don’t have to–“

“I’ll have the food ready at 1 PM. Come earlier if you want.” Megan dug in her purse for a pen and notepad and tore a page out. She quickly jotted her address and phone number on it and handed it to him. “Here’s my address. If you get called out on some mission and have to cancel at the last minute, I totally understand. But I’m warning you that if that happens, I’ll be forced to bring the extra pie to work and give it to you in public. Now only will that get the rumor mill working overtime, but it will probably give General Ross apoplexy.”

Steve smiled as he put the paper in his wallet. “We can’t have that. The rumor mill is busy enough as it is.” He nodded at the book on the table beside his tray. “I finished it last night. Pretty good. You said there’s a whole series?”

Megan nodded. “ _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ is the first book C.S. Lewis wrote in the series, but there is another book he wrote set earlier in the timeline. I have the others if you want to borrow them when you come over Sunday. I’m not done with _The Art of War_ yet. It’s easy reading, but pretty slow going since I’m taking the time to read all the annotations and examples. Without the history to go along with it, I don’t think I’d find it as interesting. As it is, I may have to hit the library and see what some of the other translations look like. It has to be hard to translate something like that and still keep all of the flavor of the original. I wonder what the White Witch would have done with it.”

**I have to admit to loving the Narnia books.**

Steve smiled at her comment and shook his head. “She never would have bothered reading it. She was too arrogant to take advice from anyone else. Aslan, on the other hand, would have studied it carefully. But my favorite character was Mr. Tumnus. He was very brave to help Lucy like he did. ”

*****

“I hate cell culture,” Megan muttered to herself as she aspirated the last of the medium from the petri dish she was carefully holding at an angle. Gently, she scraped the cells that were left behind from where they were adhered to the plate and deposited them into a waiting Eppendorf tube. She closed the lid before glancing at the protocol taped to the glass beside her and the timer by her elbow. She had two more minutes to wash and collect the remaining cells if she was going to stay on schedule. She removed the lid of the next petri dish and tipped the bottom plate onto its edge as she eased the tip of the pipette into the red medium being careful to avoid disturbing any of the cells.

**I hate cell culture. I can do it, but I find it tedious. And 35 mm plates flip upside down if you so much as look at them cross eyed, I swear. (Think of your generic petri dish shrunk down to one and a half inches wide, add fluid to the bottom and remember that the lid just rests on top. It doesn’t snap on or stay put. You touch them, they somersault. And there goes your experiment…**

“Dr. Buchwald?”

“Sheesh!” Megan bit back a curse word as she startled violently. “Don’t sneak up on people doing cell culture! I almost aspirated my cells! Be with you in two minutes.” The noise of the laminar flow hood and the house vacuum pump had masked the sound of footsteps behind her.

Megan finished what she was doing and turned her head towards the stern looking woman who was now standing beside her and looking very out of place in the laboratory. That explained the sneaking up on her; she probably didn’t realize how much focus cell culture required. Megan didn’t bother to take her gloved hands out of the hood as she asked, “What’s up?”

“I apologize for startling you. Director Fury wants to speak with you in his office.”

“Right now?”

“Correct.”

Megan sighed. “Here’s the deal. I go now, this work gets set back at least a week, maybe two. I’m taking time points here. And no, before you ask, it’s not that easy for someone else to just take over mid-protocol. We all set our stuff up a bit differently and that system is important to avoiding mistakes. Option two is he waits until I’m done in about 45 minutes. Your call.”

“He’ll wait.”

“Okay. Please let him know I’ve only got about 20 minutes to talk to him before I have to get back down here. Cells don’t understand about meetings.” She smiled a bit, trying to soften the intensity of her words. She really didn’t want to come off as difficult, but time points were a pain and she didn’t look forward to repeating the entire experiment just because she’d been stuck in conversation.

“I’ll let him know. My name is Agent Hill. I’ll see you upstairs; we can shake hands then.”

Megan nodded, pleased by the slight twinkle in Agent Hill’s eye. It didn’t sound like she was in trouble for not jumping up to rush to Fury’s office. But she’d heard enough about the Director to have a knot in her stomach at the prospect of meeting him. “I hate cell culture.”

 

*****

Megan rapped her knuckles on the open door of Director Fury’s office as she stepped inside. “Director? Agent Hill said you wanted to see me.” He was standing in front of the window, one hand behind his back, looking out at the city. It wasn’t cold enough in his office to justify the long leather coat. Maybe he just liked looking like a badass.

“You kept me waiting,” he said in a deep voice. Still, he didn’t turn to look at her. He just kept staring out the window.

“I apologize for the need, Director. I had hoped Agent Hill would explain why-“

“You kept me _waiting_ , Doctor. Do you know how long it’s been since anyone in this building told me to wait for a meeting I’d called? Congressmen make me wait. The council makes me wait. But my own employees don’t make me wait.”

Megan swallowed hard and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself despite the sinking feeling that had her stomach somewhere in the room below her feet. She watched his jaw muscles work. She was being fired for sure, and that made her angry. “Then next time I’ll just go ahead and waste two weeks’ worth of reagents, cells, experimental progress, and my salary so you can avoid staring out the window.”

“Doctor Buchwald, why are you here?” Turning at last, he pinned her with his gaze.

“Because you told Agent Hill that you wanted to see me!” Megan waved the timer she had in one hand. “And I have to take the next time point in fifteen minutes, so you can either tell me what this is about now, fire me and have someone else take the damn time point, or wait around another hour so we can discuss—” She waved her hand at his room at nothing in particular “—whatever this is, when the experiment is done.”

“Do you know who I am, Doctor Buchwald?” He looked down at the file she finally noticed he had in his hand. He opened it and started to look through it.

Megan stepped forward, picked up the nameplate from desk, and turned it around to face him. “Says here you’re Nick Fury. Clearly it is spelled wrong and should say ‘Nick Furious’ but I didn’t order it and that error isn’t on me.”

He made a small noise in his throat but otherwise ignored her comment. “Post hole digger in biochemistry. Bullshit degree in biology. No spouse, no kids, no pets, no arrest record, no skeletons in the closet. Raised in a nowhere Pennsylvania by a schoolteacher. One adopted sister, whereabouts unknown, and one biological brother with severe learning disabilities. Three nephews.”

“I am flattered you have assembled my biography, but we’re down to thirteen minutes and that includes time to get back to the lab.”

He looked up at her for a long moment, then back at the file. “According to this, you are supposed to be smart and boring.”

“If that’s the case, you need better researchers.”

“According to this, you shouldn’t be causing me problems.”

“Aside from giving you more time to study the currents on the Potomac, what are the problems I’m supposedly causing you? Because last time I checked, I was down in the lab taking time points, which is about as boring as you can find anywhere.”

“Captain Rogers came to see me today. He said General Ross has been harassing you. And the Captain seems to think I’m now in charge of human resources on top of everything else.”

“First off, harassing is too strong of a word. Secondly, your H.R. department is even less effective than congress at the moment, so I’m not a bit surprised Steve came to you rather than wasting his time with them. But as I told Steve, I can deal with grumpy old men with ego issues. And before you ask, no, I have no idea why General Ross feels a need to point out that he’s watching me all the time. You have another window in your office that he can comes stare out of if he has nothing to do.” Megan gestured to the glass and glanced back at her timer again making no effort to hide the fact she was doing so.

**Yeah, my issues with Congress bleed through. We hire them (with our votes, at state and national levels) to work on our behalf. Yet they seem to get into office and forget that We the People hired them, not the lobbyists, not the special interests, and not the rich big-wigs doing back door deals. I vote on behalf of my kids, my special needs-brother, the local school district, the women in shelters, the homeless vets, and the others who can’t advocate for themselves. It gets frustrating that my vote little doesn’t seem to make a difference. But I keep trying. **

“What are your intentions with regards to Captain Rogers?”

“What?” Megan stared at him. “Seriously? I’m sure a functioning H.R. department would love to know you just asked me that. But you don’t have that here, do you?” Megan put her timer on the desk between them so they could both see it, then straightened up and folded her arms. “Okay, as much fun as this has been, I’d like to get back to the lab sometime today. So as inappropriate as that question is, I’m going to answer you. One word: lunch.”

“Lunch?”

“Lunch. That meal I’ve been told I have to take an hour off for every day. Sometimes, I head up to the cafeteria to eat with other people. It’s called being collegial. Except I’ve found that Steve is always sitting by himself. You want to know why? Because your super inefficient H.R. department has turned him into a pariah in the name of protecting him from harassment.”

“Captain America is a national treasure and we want to make sure-”

“Steve Rogers is a citizen of the United States. He eats food just like the rest of us. And he shouldn’t have to eat alone in the name of protecting him. He fought the Nazis so I think he can handle a few autograph requests from adoring agents. So there you have it: my intentions are to eat lunch with an interesting person and talk about books we read. It helps pass the time before I can go back to tending the cells I’m characterizing.

“Speaking of which,” Megan pointed to the timer. “Are we done here or am I coming back for round two in an hour?”

Fury tossed her file onto his desk and met her gaze once more. “If General Ross so much as leers at you again I want to know about it.”

Megan waited, not sure if she was being dismissed or not.

“Go tend your cells, Doctor.”

Megan nodded once and picked her up timer.

She was almost out the door when he called to her, “What books?”

Megan looked over her shoulder and smiled for the first time. “Today we were deciding which character in Narnia would make the best use of _The Art of War_ if they got their hands on it. Aslan, paws down.”

Nick smiled slightly and shook his head before waving her out of his office.

*****

“I cannot believe I’m doing this,” Megan muttered to herself as she stood in front of her closet and looked through her shirts for the fifth time. Half a dozen of them were off their hangers and tossed over the back of nearby chair. She wished she’d told Steve the dress code was super casual. As it was, she was trying to walk the fine line between comfortably hanging out at home and dressing up for company without looking like she was being deliberate about it. Given the era he’d grown up in, she half expected him to come dressed in a suit and tie, so if she wore jeans and a t-shirt he’d feel overdressed. If she overdressed herself and he tried to be casual in keeping with the modern era, he’d feel awkwardly underdressed. Of course she wanted to look a bit better than she did on a typical Sunday where sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt were the norm. She’d settled on black slacks as a safe middle ground and gotten stuck.

The timer on the stove went off letting her know she was out of time. “This is ridiculous.” She finally grabbed a teal scoop neck top that had three-quarter sleeves and stuffed the other shirts in the empty laundry basket to rehang later. Her DNA pendant necklace and matching earrings were the first thing she saw in her jewelry box, so she grabbed them to put on while she checked the roast again and added a bit of water so the pan didn’t go dry. The pumpkin pie she’d made last night was in the fridge and the apple pie would be done in another half hour. There was even a loaf of bread baking in the bread machine.

She’d make the gravy once he got here. The roast was done and the smell was seriously awesome but making her _really_ hungry. She brushed her chin length brown hair out one last time and gave up any hope of taming the curls today. She didn’t consider herself to be especially pretty, but today’s standards of beauty were skewed. She had curves and would never be a size 2 model or movie star. That was okay given her love of food. Besides, she had good lab hands and that was far more important to career success than begin blown away by a gust of wind while nibbling on carrot sticks. Carrots! She’d forgotten to make the salad.

So much for not being rushed. Chewing on her lower lip, she put her apron back on and got to work.

She had the celery, carrots, and green peppers all chopped when she heard a knock at the door. Ignoring the butterflies in her stomach, she checked the peephole and saw Steve waiting patiently. “Hi! Did you have any trouble parking?” she asked as she opened the door and gestured for him to come in.

He was wearing slacks and a button down shirt under his leather jacket and held a motorcycle helmet under one arm. In his other hand, he held a bottle of wine. Stepping inside, he shook his head. “Bike’s easy to park and then I just followed my nose here. The food smells wonderful.” He handed her the wine. “I wasn’t sure if you liked wine or not but I wanted to bring something.”

“I don’t drink often, but it always tastes good with pot roast. Let me get the glasses down. There are hooks and hangers on the back of the door you can use for your jacket. Just find a spot to put your helmet and pull up a barstool. Once the salad is done, I’ll make the gravy and we can eat.”

“Nice place.” Steve toed of his shoes and put the helmet down on the floor beside them before following her to the kitchen. “Can I help?”

“There’s no need. I’m almost done. And this is really a one-person kitchen if you’re working at the counter. Actually, it’s a one person apartment,” she laughed a little as she started slicing tomatoes. “But I wanted something in walking distance to the metro, and that drives prices way up. I feel sick every time I pay rent, but not having a car makes access to the subway a must. And I figure with only one room to live in, I’ll be highly motivated to keep everything picked up.”

While she talked, Steve sat down on a barstool and leaned on the bar that separated the sink side of the kitchen from the rest of the small living space. Looking around a bit, his brow furrowed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but…” he paused, waiting for her nod before he continued,“... where’s your bed?”

**Fun fact: the sleeper sofa as we recognize it was first made in 1931 by Bernard Castro, an Italian immigrant.  He studied the furniture in NYC’s Metropolitan Museum of Art. Maybe he and Steve unknowingly crossed paths there once upon a time.**

**I remember being appalled that a fellow student at my undergrad institution was renting a studio apt. that had a sleeper sofa as his only bed. He deserved better, but it was what he could afford.**

Megan smiled, “The couch folds out into a double bed. It’s not that comfortable, I admit. But I didn’t pick it, either. Most of this furniture is included in the rental price. I just have to move the coffee table, open up the bed, and I’m set. During the week, I usually just leave it out since I’m whipped by the time I get home and eat dinner. I figure once I have a better job and savings built up, I’ll move to something a little bigger and buy myself a real bed. In the meantime, it works.” She shrugged. “My back sometimes likes to suggest otherwise.”

“I brought your book back.” Steve laid it on the counter beside the wine glasses she set down in front of him.

Megan figured he must have had it in his jacket. “The rest of the series is on my super-fancy bookshelf set over there. Go and pull them out so you can take them with you.”

Steve looked more closely at the shelves, “I like your shelves,” he said with a smile.

“Cinder blocks and 1 x 6 boards are standard college issue, just like two filing cabinets and a door make a pretty awesome desk. I’ll skimp and save all sorts of ways, but I have to have my books with me.”

“Your desk isn’t made of filing cabinets.”

“That’s my sewing machine. All closed up, it doubles as a desk. It’s my other must-have item no matter where I go.”

**Ah, the joys of grad school living. I remember those days well. I am proud to say hubby and I have upgraded from cinderblock shelves to Hand Me Downs and Used Furniture Stores, with a dash of Self-Assembled Pressed Sawdust pieces for a bit of variety. We’d rather put our money into books and vacations (and computers/game systems, in hubby’s case).**

Steve went over to the shelves and quickly located the next two books in the Narnia series. He put _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ on the shelf where it belonged before returning to his seat. “I didn’t think most people sewed anymore.”

“They don’t, at least not for everyday clothes. Even I can’t buy fabric and a pattern for what I can pay for a basic shirt on sale. When I was growing up, my mom sewed all of our clothes to save money. Nowadays, sewing is more expensive than buying clothes, at least for a lot of the basics. But I learned to sew when I was in high school and I’m glad I did. I can fix things that have torn seams and even better, I can often make some basic alteration so what I buy fits me better. I also like making my own curtains and throw pillows, which actually does save money. But you’re right, most people don’t know how to sew. It’s more of a hobby than a necessity.”

**Sewing was such an important part of my life growing up, and the same was true for my mother and grandmother. My kids only get to see me sew when it’s for special occasions, like a Fennekin (pokemon) costume, or to alter store-bought clothing (daughter has such a tiny waist that I have to take her pants in), or mend a seam. It’s frustrating to see such shoddy workmanship on the clothing I buy, but it’s too costly to do it myself for everyday wear, especially for the kids.**

“What is that?” Steve asked, nodding to the lidded bowl she was holding down on the counter while she pulled a cord in the lid.

“Salad spinner. Basically, it’s a kitchen centrifuge. Getting a lot of the water off keeps the lettuce fresh longer. Between this and the Tupperware, the salad leftovers will stay fresh for a few days.

“I put the corkscrew out. Go ahead and pour the wine while I get the gravy started.” Megan instructed as she added the lettuce to the big bowl she had the rest of the vegetables in. She mixed it all up and put the bowl on the drop-leaf table that was in the living room between Steve and the bookshelves.

Right then, the bread machine beeped. “Bread’s done.”

“You made bread, too?” Steve looked at her in wonder, while is fingers were busy removing the foil cap from the bottle. 

“Don’t look too excited. I didn’t do it by hand. But there is _nothing_ like homemade bread.” Megan used a potholder and removed the pan from the machine. She set it on the counter to cool and turned her attention back to the roast. She set the Dutch oven on the stovetop and removed the lid. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving. You have no idea how good that smells to me. Seriously, we can skip the gravy.”

“You don’t like gravy?”

“I love gravy. But you don’t have to—”

“Sit down and drink your wine,” Megan admonished him. “Gravy doesn’t take that long. Or, if you want, you can wrestle the bread out of the pan and start eating that.” She looked up from dishing up the meat and potatoes and carrots from the pan so she could collect the drippings. “I mean it. I’ll have a slice, too. There’s a cutting board beside the microwave and the knives are in the block.” She moved the drippings to a smaller pan, added the flour solution she’d prepared earlier, and then started to stir the mixture.

“I like the second suggestion.”

“Just save room for pie.”

“You really made two pies?” He looked like a kid on Christmas morning the way his eyes sparkled.

“The pumpkin pie is in the fridge and the apple pie is ready to be checked. You can do that before you cut the bread. I need to keep stirring this until it thickens.” Megan told him.

“How do you tell if it’s done?”

“Grab a table knife from the drawer beside the sink and pierce some of the apples through one of the holes in the crust. If the apples are soft and the crust is golden, it’s done. If they are still crunchy or hard to cut, it needs a bit more time in the oven.”

She moved out of his way so he could open the oven door. “It looks done,” she said, watching him test the filling with a knife.

“It is.”

She watched as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before setting the pie on a hot pad on the counter. It broke her heart to think of him missing these simple pleasures due to the depression, then the war. “I can teach you how to make pies, Steve. It’s not that hard and then you can make pie whenever you want to.”

He looked down and answered her softly, “I’d like that.”

“I don’t want to overstep here, but do you know how to cook? I know that when you were growing up, the kitchen was traditionally a woman’s domain.”

“It was, but my mom taught me a little so I’d have hot food even on the nights she had to work late,” Steve explained quietly as he sliced the bread and handed her the first piece.

“We can expand that repertoire if you want. It kills me that you haven’t had pot roast since 1941.” She saw the wariness in his eyes, his guard going back up as he protected himself from what he perceived as pity. “It would be fun, actually, to dig through my recipe box and get back to cooking more. I’ve gotten into a bit of a culinary rut, I’m afraid.”

She sipped her wine and kept stirring with her other hand. “For the record, it’s not pity that’s motivating me.”

“Then what is?” His shoulders were still tense as he continued to slice the loaf of bread, his back towards her.

“Empathy. And a bit of anger on your behalf. I can’t believe how you’ve just been left to you own devices to figure out a world that has to be overwhelming at times. Instead, it seems to me that S.H.I.E.L.D. only cares that you’re able to go on their missions and as long as you’re good for that, they’re happy.”

“They offered me a tutor. It… didn’t work out,” He admitted quietly.

“Let me guess. They gave you some young, starry eyed recruit who was either caught up in hero worship or talking down to you like you didn’t know anything about readin’ and writin’ and indoor plumin’.”

He turned and looked at her shyly, his face a bit red, “Both, actually,” He chuckled a bit. “I knew it wasn’t going to work when he seemed surprised I had grown up with electric lights. So once I was acclimated enough to do my job, I told him we were done.”

“I knew you were a smart guy,” She grinned and was happy to see his guard starting to come back down again. “Let’s eat and you can think about it. I’m not trying to pressure you and I’m by no means a gourmet chef. But I do know how to make pie and pot roast. Besides, just think of the women you’ll have swooning at your feet when they find out you know your way around the kitchen. If they find out you also wash windows and scrub floors, you’ll be beating them off with a stick.”

****

“I had an interesting conversation with Nick Fury this week.” Megan said a bit later when the ravenous hunger was gone and they were both working on second helpings. “He really likes his grumble and gruff routine, doesn’t he?”

That got Steve’s attention. He eyed her warily. “What happened?”

Megan watched his expression morph into a mix of admiration and horror as she relayed the conversation as she remembered it. “When I left, he was almost smiling. I think for him that was the equivalent of belly laughter.”

“I can’t believe he let you talk to him like that.” Steve shook his head. She couldn’t tell if she thought she’d been bold or stupid to have done so. In truth, he’d be right on both counts.

“Me, either. I was expecting him to fire me on the spot.”

“So why’d you do it if you thought it would get you fired?”

Megan blushed a little and looked down, embarrassed at her behavior. “I didn’t like his attitude. If there is one thing I can’t stand it’s people trying to act all-important just because of their title or their rank. I pushed back. And when he started asking me why I was there for a meeting he summoned me to, I got really angry and I’m afraid that when I get angry or backed into a corner, I tend to speak my mind, minus the all-important filters of manners or tact. It gets me into trouble sometimes, so I try not to get myself into those situations in the first place. He hit all my buttons, but I learned something in the process. I think it’s a defense mechanism for him.”

“Defense against what?”

“Lots of things: racism, hurt feelings, getting too close,” Megan sighed, “To get to the top, he had to prove he was twice as good as any of the white guys who wanted his position. If he barks first, it puts people on the defensive. He’s got a tough job and I’m sure there is a lot of political crap going on behind the scenes that makes it an even tougher job. So he snarls and growls because for whatever reason, it works. But it keeps people from seeing him any other way.”

“That makes sense. But I don’t suggest trying that again if you want to keep your job.”

Megan laughed. “I’ll try to stay out of trouble.” She retrieved a tablet and pen from her sewing table/desk and quickly jotted a note. _Do you think I have to worry about my apartment begin bugged?_   She felt stupid writing it and hoped she didn’t come across as paranoid. “This is good wine.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Steve took the pen from her, thought a moment, then wrote beneath her words _. I wish I could say no._

“Are you ready for pie?”

Steve let out a soft moan, “Give me a few minutes. I’m enjoying this too much to rush.” On the pad, he continued their second conversation. _What has you worried?_

“I never thought to ask if you drank coffee. I don’t so I don’t have any here. But I can offer you tea.”

“I love coffee, but tea is fine.”

“I’ll put the kettle on.” She took back the pen. _Hard to put my finger on. Lots of little things. Someone was in my apartment this week. May have been maintenance… but no note was left._

When Megan returned to the table, Steve handed her a folded paper he’d retrieved from his jacket. He wrote a bit more and pushed the notepad over to her. _This was slipped inside my locker at S.H.I.E.L.D. on Friday._

Megan opened up the paper. It listed two books, followed by the message, “Mandatory book club reading, off-site only.”

Megan felt the color drain from her face. “I’m going to put the food away while the water heats,” she said in as normal a voice as she could manage. _We need to talk. Cell phones track your location. Where is truly off the grid and private?_

“Let me help,” Steve said, jumping up in alarm at her reaction.

Megan pulled Tupperware out of the cupboards and tried to find matching lids but her hands were shaking so badly she almost dropped the plastic ware. Steve reached around her and took them from her and laid them on the counter before turning her around and pulling her close in a hug. His lips brushed next to her ear. His breath was a faint whisper, “You’ve read those books?”

Megan nodded and held up one finger. She couldn’t stop shaking. If she was right, then she was going to have to make some tough choices.

Steve rubbed her back, holding her close. “We’ll figure this out,” he murmured to her. In a normal voice, he said, “I think I’d like for you to teach me to cook a few meals.”

Megan nodded robotically and took a deep breath. Cooking as a cover for spending more time with him? She could do that. “As soon as I finish putting this away, we can decide what to start with. Why don’t you sit down and make a list of favorite foods you miss having. I’ll get my recipe box out and pull out some of my favorites, and we can from there. Do you have a crock pot?”

“I don’t know what that is, so I assume the answer is no.”

“Then we need to get you one. Or two, actually, so you have different sizes for different meals. They’re not expensive. Do you trust me?”

He held her head in his hands when she pulled away to start putting away the leftovers, “Absolutely.” His eyes told her that he wasn’t talking about crock-pots.

**Without crock pots, my family might starve. I confess to going through phases when I fall of the cooking bandwagon and need to get back on. I don’t like that chore and the kids are now self sufficient enough to get by on what they make themselves. But there is nothing better than getting home from work to have the house smelling like a pot of fresh chile or whatever else is cooking that day. I grump in the morning at the five minutes it takes, but sure love that person later in the day when dinner is ready when I get home!**

 


	2. Ch 5-6 Car Ride and The Battle of the Bill

 

At work the next day, Megan kept yawning as she tried to concentrate. She’d tossed and turned all night, waking from nightmares of being hunted and chased when she finally did fall asleep. But the way forward was clear, at least to her. Whatever work she was doing had to be slowed down, at least until she understood its purpose better. And nothing brought cell culture to a halt like contamination.

For the first time in her life, Megan was going to sabotage an experiment. It went against everything she believed in as a scientist. She tried to comfort herself with the knowledge that she wasn’t falsifying data, but she knew that is was just a way of justifying her plans.

**This is a huge step for Megan. She believes in good science and is loath to alter experimental results in any way. At least with contamination, she can cling to the moral high ground.**

As she worked in the hood, she dribbled some cell culture medium on the hood surface as she was pipetting it from the bottle to her cells. When she went to clean it up, she dipped her gloved finger into the droplets, and then dragged the same finger across the tray she put the petri dishes on before sliding them, tray and all, into the incubator. It was sloppy technique on her part. But sloppy technique was how a lot of contamination started and was notoriously difficult to track down.

**There is no guarantee that this incident will introduce contamination, but it easily could. The air we breathe is full of all sorts of microbes. That’s the way it is supposed to be. But it also means that sloppy technique leads to contamination, and that path leads to incubator cleaning, which is very much Not Fun. Some people try to compensate with antibiotics and anti-fungals in their cell “food” but it’s a very poor substitute for good technique.**

Megan shut the incubator door and returned to the hood with the next tray of cells to continue her experiments. The minute amounts of liquid on the tray inside the incubator were barely visible to the naked eye, but to a fungal spore they were an ocean. The habitat had been provided; it was up to the fungi to do the rest.

****

“How many staples for cooking do you keep in your kitchen?” Megan sat across from Steve in the cafeteria and tapped her pen on her notepad. “I want to make a list of what we need to set you up with.”

He shrugged his too-broad shoulders at her. “Just the usual stuff.”

“Sugar, salt and pepper?”

He nodded.

“Corn starch, flour, cinnamon, basil, garlic power?

“I have flour.”

Megan made some notes. “Dry pasta, canned goods like diced tomatoes and kidney beans?”

Steve shook his head, embarrassment making a faint blush creep up his cheeks.

Megan smiled at him gently, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m just trying to not spend your money on stuff you already keep on hand. You need to have a few things that you just always have in the pantry since you’ll use them so much. How about measuring cups and spoons, stuff like that?”

“I got cups and spoons, but nothing else in terms of tools. I went to a kitchen store once and it was overwhelming. I got some glass mixing bowls and left.

“Those places are dangerous! You can blow your life savings on gadgets that you don’t need. But if you find you need a specialty tool, those are a good place to start looking for it.” She studied him, lost for a second in those blue eyes that were too old and tired for the young face they looked out from. Clearly, the things he’d seen in his life had aged him. War did that to people. “Okay, I need a budget. While I’m quite happy to help you spend your money, I don’t want to strain your finances. We can spread purchases out over a period of several weeks if that’s easier. In the end, cooking at home saves money but setting up a kitchen the first time can get pricey. Just let me know so I can prioritize what we should get first. Spices, for example, are really expensive considering the size of the container. We should rent a car for a day so we can shop around without messing with hauling your loot around in a bunch of cabs.”

“I have a car.” Steve smiled when he saw her look of surprise. He shrugged again. “I just prefer the bike most of the time.”

“When it’s sleeting sideways, cars are definitely better. Okay, that makes the logistics easier.”

“We can get everything at once,” he told her softly, like it was something to be embarrassed about.

“Noted. We can swing by the bookstore and get you a good cookbook, too. I suggest the newer edition of the one I have. The internet is nice, but a good cookbook is full of extra information that can really help when you’re trying something new. You also need a recipe box so you have all your favorites in one place.

 “I have to ask you a personal question, Steve.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Have you ever been to Wal-Mart?”

**I have a love hate relationship with the big box stores. I use them because I’m on a tight budget myself. They’ve convenient, for sure. But I don’t like the side effects the bring with them. I wish I were in a position to vote with my feet more, but it is what it is.**

**I see Megan as wanting to stretch Steve’s dollars as much as possible and get his kitchen set up without running all over. Big box stores are a part of life, so she figures he’ll need to visit one eventually, if only so he knows why he wants to avoid them in the future.**  

****

 

“I love the color of this car!” Megan told him as she slid into the passenger seat of his bright red sedan. “So many cars are black and beige and white. Manual shift, too. You have excellent taste.”

“I like bright colors,” Steve said, pulling out from the curb. “Clint said Subaru made cars that lasted. He’s kind of scary when negotiating though. I think the salesperson accepted the offer just to get us out of there, and that was even before Clint whipped out a non-disclosure agreement Tony’s lawyer gave me.”

“Give me a frame of reference, here. Who’s Clint?”

“The archer from the attack on New York. He’s with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Got it.”

Steve glanced over at her. “You really don’t pay much attention to the news, do you?”

Megan shook her head. “Most of it depresses me and it’s about stuff I can’t control anyway. I read the newspaper, yes. But I tend to focus more on the local stuff.” She stretched out in her seat. “This is really comfortable. You made a good choice. Growing up, we had a Subaru that had over 100,000 miles on it and it started right up in the dead of winter when the brand new van next to it didn’t. Take care of this beauty and you’ll have it a long time. It could go to 200,000 miles easily. You owe Clint a beer.”

**The Subaru vs. Voyager minivan story is completely true.**

Steve smiled. “I’ll tell him you said that.” He was quiet a moment, and then added. “He’ll appreciate hearing it. Too many people still blame him for the agents lost when Loki was on the rampage.”

**Monday morning quarterbacking is something I imagine a lot of people indulged in as they coped with the aftermath of the attack in New York. It was easier for them to blame Clint for being weak than face the terrifying realization that it could just as easily have been one of them put into Loki’s control. (Well, not likely, since only someone as skilled as Clint would be useful to Loki. Lesser agents would just have been killed. But those in denial about their vulnerability to brainwashing are hardly likely to be honest about their own potential usefulness to Loki!) Due to her personal history, Megan tends to analyze and empathize with those others overlook.**

“What part of mind control don’t they understand? Even I remember reading about that part. I just didn’t remember his name. I’d like to see how they fare after being made into a puppet by a demi god. They don’t get to judge until they’ve walked this path. And you can tell him I said that, too.”

“I will.” Steve checked over his shoulder before he smoothly switched lanes after merging onto the highway. “Why are we going to Wal-Mart again?”

“Because we can get everything you need in one stop without having to sell this awesome car to pay for it. Taking shopping carts off the property is theft and it’s a long walk home. There are some things I won’t get there, but for what you need today, it’s the easiest way to get it all.”

They rode awhile in comfortable silence. Megan tried not to stare at him too much, but it was fun watching him drive. He made it look more like a dance than the exercise in frustration she found it to be. “What do you do for fun, besides read?”

“Well, I’m learning to cook.”

“So I’ve heard. What else? Surely you don’t sit up nights polishing your shield while you watch infomercials. If so, we need to get you a hobby because that is seriously pathetic.”

He chuckled a bit, “I promise I don’t spend my nights polishing my shield.”

“But you are watching infomercials? Just how many pillow pets did you buy? Do I need to stage an intervention?” Megan covered her mouth with her hand in mock horror. “Oh my gosh, you bought the Insanity fitness DVD set didn’t you? That explains how you stay so fit!”

**How do you get to know someone without being too nosy? Steve’s life story is “known” and not all that pleasant. Megan isn't comfortable asking questions that might seem too probing about how well he’s adjusting to this new reality. So she takes a chance he’s stumbled across some late night television… and he latches on to that safe topic with both hands.**

“Well, I had to something. After I bought the vacuum sealed storage bags I didn’t have to wrestle my sweaters into boxes that kept popping the lids. There went my fitness program.”

Megan laughed out loud at that mental image. “Did you wear out your old vacuum with all the abuse? I’ve heard that the Dyson is the best vacuum on the market”

“No. After I all three of my sweaters into a bag and had Thor hammer it flat, I was done. No vacuum required.” He said it so seriously that Megan completely dissolved into stitches. He smiled a bit and glanced over at her, meeting her eyes for a split second before looking back at the road.

“I can’t remember when I last laughed that hard,” she said when she finally caught her breath. “Your good medicine. But seriously, you need to have something creative to do, something that’s yours. If you have something and you don’t want to share it, that’s fine. But you need something; we all do.”

“I have something.”

**She wants to ask. But she’s not going to. At least not yet. Maybe once she knows him better. For now, she’ll stick to humor and another known safe topic: books.**

“Good. I’d like to stop at the bookstore while we’re out and about, if you don’t mind. I haven’t indulged in browsing a bookstore for a while.”

“That’s fine. I’d like to do that, too.”

A shared glance confirmed they were both thinking about their mysterious reading club assignment. Feeling serious again, Megan turned back to the passenger window and watched the scenery.

“I like to sketch,” he said quietly into the silence.

“Pencil or charcoal?” She turned back to him and watched as he smoothly downshifted to accommodate the slower traffic ahead of them. Every movement was relaxed and graceful, reflecting his innate athletic ability. It made her feel unusually safe in the multilane traffic they were currently ensnared in.

“Both. During the war graphite pencils were easier to come by. And they worked better on the small pad I carried with me.”

“You must have filled a lot of hours between fighting battles that way.

“I did.”

“What happened to your belongings after your plane went down?”

**She forgot herself for a moment and let herself think out loud. Curiosity isn’t bad, but this has to be a sensitive topic for Steve.**

“I don’t know. I’ve tried to focus on moving forward.” Tension crept back into his shoulders. He really carried a heavy burden of pain and loss everywhere he went.

Megan tried to steer the conversation away from the war. “Have you tried oil pastels? My almost mother-in-law, Janice, loves those.”

“Not yet. Maybe I should.”

“We should stop at a craft store and browse around. And there’s a book I bought Janice, you absolutely _have_ to have. I’ll remember it if I see it. I got it for her last Christmas because it talked all about the theory of how to create different effects with color and light. I’m not even an artist and I enjoyed reading it since he explained things so clearly then showed examples. It’s by the guy who wrote the Inotropic* series of books. What’s his name?” she rubbed her temples. “Argh! I hate it when I can’t remember names like that. I’ll have them look it up if it’s not on the shelf.”

“I want to buy you a bike helmet today,” Steve said, changing the subject rather abruptly.

“Ooooh Kayyy. And you want to do this why?”

“So I can take you riding.” He glanced over at her again, smiling slightly.

“You do realize that if you ride a motorcycle long enough, you’re going to put it down. And while _you_ may heal from just about everything short of a beheading, I don’t.

“I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.” From anyone else, it was a comment. From him, it was an oath.

Megan knew that he didn’t make the promise lightly. Even so, he couldn’t control all the other drivers on the road.

“Please?”

“If we get pinned between two semis and a SUV and one of them moves the wrong way, there’s not a whole lot you are going to be able to do about it. While I trust you with my life, I don’t trust the other idiots out here on the highway who think you should steer with your knees so you can text with one hand and put on makeup with the other and that you get bonus points for tailgating while going twenty mph over the speed limit.”

**The things I saw drivers doing on the roads when I lived in the DC area terrified me.**

“That does seem to describe a lot of the folks I see out here on the road. But my bike is a bit different than most. Howard Stark outfitted the bike I rode in the war with some extra features and I let his son Tony do the same thing to my new one. I promise you’ll be okay, even pinned between two semis and an SUV.”

Megan could tell this was important to him, though she couldn’t fathom why. “Okay,” she agreed reluctantly. “But the helmet has to be bright purple. And while I concede that a leather jacket and pants make sense, I am not getting a bunch of tattoos, sleeping with you, or bleaching my hair just so you can have a stereotypical biker chick riding behind you.”

Steve blushed a deep red. “I never meant to imply—”

“Gotcha!” Megan chuckled. “You blondes blush so easily.”

“I’m glad I amuse you.” His tone was offended, but smile tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

“I’m glad you’re my friend. For the last several months, I’ve been waking up every morning wondering how this became my life—”

**Megan, you have no idea….**

“I know the feeling.”

“I know you do. But the last few weeks have been different. You’ve helped me find my footing and I’m starting to think I can really be happy again in a life without Randy. I’m the one who walked away. I knew it wasn’t going to work. But it still hurts. You’ve made that easier. There’s something really comforting about knowing I have a friend to turn to when things get bad. Even if you want me to play biker chick.”

Steve reached over and squeezed her hand quickly before putting it back on the steering wheel. “You’ve helped me, too, you know. For some reason, you see me and not Captain America. You have no idea how nice that is.”

“I think I do, sort of.” Megan looked down at her hands and picked at a sharp corner of her thumbnail. “I broke my engagement with Randy because I realized he didn’t really know me. He knew what he wanted me to be and somehow expected me to live up to an image I had no input in designing. And even though he said the right things when I called him on it, he’d turn around and make assumptions that told me he didn’t really believe his own words.”

**At this point, I had no idea Megan’s issues with Randy ran as deeply as they did. When I say I have no idea why my characters say and do things sometimes, it’s _true_. I run after them yelling “the plot is over here” and they ignore me. Later, once I catch up to them, I find out that the plot wasn’t where I thought it was and I have to do some fast-thinking to get my plans in line with their shenanigans. In my mind, Randy was benign, but not a good fit for Megan. They just wanted different things. **

Megan looked out the window, seeing only into the past. “Some things he had right. I do talk too much, listen too little, and have strong opinions. I’m not perfect. Far from it. But I need my own career. As badly as I want a family someday, I can’t be a stay home mom. I’m not wired that way. I wish I could be satisfied with that because parenting is the most important job there is, but I can’t. And Randy couldn’t accept that I wasn’t going to turn into a Stepford wife after graduation.”

**And here you see Megan’s self-doubts coming out. Again, I didn’t realize at the time where they were coming from. After all, our society doesn’t value or reward outspoken women as much as it should. Some would call this foreshadowing. Only I had no idea I was doing any such thing at the time!**

“So you left.”

“And broke both our hearts in the process.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. She was _not_ going to cry.

“You did the right thing. It’s his loss.”

“Thanks.”

“Doing the right thing doesn’t keep it from hurting.”

“Voice of experience?”

Steve nodded. The set of his jaw told her that those experiences had caused him plenty of pain over the years. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an object, then handed it to her.

She opened it carefully, admiring the workmanship. “I always loved compasses. Aside from being practical, they’re a good reminder that there’s more to the universe than we can detect with our senses.” Turning her attention to the picture in the lid, she studied the face looking out at her. “There is real strength in her gaze. Who was she?”

Steve looked a bit surprised by her question. “I thought everyone knew.”

Megan shook her head. “I have made it a point to avoid reading up on you. I’m sure there are Wikipedia pages galore, a few books, and who knows what else. But you’re my friend, not a research project. All I know is what you tell me plus a few tidbits I’ve heard and there, which I don’t trust anyways since those sources can be unreliable. Since her picture is in your compass, I know she was important to you. Since it’s from a newspaper clipping, I’m assuming she either didn’t give it to you or that wartime conditions made photo exchanges impossible.” Megan handed the compass back to him and watched as he handled the compass reverently, closing it gently before returning it to his pocket.

**Megan values Steve as a person. I can’t imagine how strange it would be for Steve to have people think they know him based on what they’ve read. Megan, with that “unusual” empathy I mentioned above, has made a concerted effort to avoid doing any research on Steve since she met him. Before that, he was just a headline she glanced over and paid little attention to. She’s not lying when she says she doesn’t know much about him.**

“Peggy Carter. She helped found S.H.I.E.L.D. after… after the war ended.” Steve took a deep breath. “She was sunshine. She was part of the S.S.R. initiative that made me...” he waved at his body, searching for words. “She was smart and strong and…” Steve took another deep breath. “We never had a chance.”

“Because she didn’t know you cared or because your plane went down?”

“I called her on the radio. I guess I hoped someone had a better idea for stopping the plane. At the very least, they’d know what had happened. Peggy answered. She promised to teach me to dance. I was to meet her at the Stork Club the following Saturday. Her last words to me were, ‘Just be there,’ and I wasn’t.”

“Did she marry, after the war?”

“I don’t know. I can’t decide if I really want to know or not. I hate the idea of her being alone for the rest of her life. But…”

“It’s okay.” Megan touched his hand. “You feel what you feel. There’s no right or wrong about that. You’ll find out when you’re ready. If she did marry, it doesn’t mean she cared less about you, even if you find yourself jealous of her new guy. If she’s even half the woman you think she was, I know she’d be really proud of you.”

————

*The book Megan is thinking about is _Color and Light: A Guide for the Realist Painter_ by James Gurney”

****

“I feel like we bought the whole store,” Steve said as they unloaded the cart and moved the bags to his car.

“Then you need to go back inside and look around again. I’m pretty sure we left plenty on the shelves.” Megan teased. “Besides, half of what you bought was food. The food storage containers and appliances will last you for years.”

“True.” Steve looked around the parking lot, “To be honest, I thought it was going to be awful. People at work kept telling me to avoid big stores.”

“I think they confuse the challenges of adjusting to a new time with adjusting to being an adult. You fought on the front lines in a brutal war. How can Wal-Mart compare to that for sensory overload?”

**Again, putting myself in Steve’s shoes, I bet he got a lot of kid-glove treatment from well-meaning people. Not knowing how to use a smart phone isn’t a sign of stupidity.**

“The war was a lot harder.” He shut the trunk lid and went around to open Megan’s door for her.

“Exactly. Granted, if you had no idea what you wanted or needed to get, it might be a bit overwhelming to wander into the small appliances aisle. But it’s quite possible to cook without any of those.” Megan rested her hand on top of the doorframe as she tossed her purse onto the floor of the car. She looked up at him with her most innocent expression. “From what I understand, when you were growing up, you had fire and a few stone tools. Spear a rabbit, hang it over the fire on a spit, dinner is done.”

**Steve must be relaxing if he’s joking this much with Megan.**

Steve shook his head sadly. “Megan, fire wasn’t discovered until I was a teenager. We ate our rabbits raw before that.”

Megan laughed. “I stand corrected. Let’s hit Michael’s next. I saw one near the bookstore we passed about a quarter mile back. You can get some more sketch pads and look at their assortment of supplies. If you want to browse longer than I do, I’ll just meet you at the bookstore,” she said as she got in.

**A big box art store has to be easier to take than Wal-Mart!**

“Okay.” Steve said as he shut the door for her. She wasn’t really used to that, but knew it was just the way he’d been raised. He probably did it without even a conscious thought.

“How about you? What do you do for fun besides read and sew?” he asked as he guided the car out of the parking lot and back onto the main road.

**Megan hasn’t pushed, which makes it easier for Steve to open up to her.**

“I like to go horseback riding. Now that I have a job, I’ve got to find a new stable to ride at. An hour at the barn is the best therapy in the world. I really miss riding and need to get back to going every week.”

“You like to ride horses and you’re afraid of a motorcycle? Bikes don’t spook and take off without you.”

**Steve, you sound like a city boy.**

Megan smiled at him. “You are so clearly a city kid. Yes, horses spook sometimes. But lessons with a good instructor minimize the risks. The more you learn about horses, the better you can tell what they’re thinking and feeling. As long as you respect them and stay aware of your surroundings, it’s not that dangerous. Besides, it’s about the only exercise I actually enjoy. Gym class was my least favorite class in school.”

Steve seemed surprised at that. “Really? Why?”

“I’m lousy at all of it. Look up ‘clumsy’ in the dictionary and you’ll find my picture there. Not to mention the misery of sweating. Given a choice of doing a half hour of treadmill torture or curling up in the air conditioning with a good book, the book wins every time. But I love being around the horses and as long as I have a horse patient enough to put up with my pathetic attempts to ride, I’ll keep trying to get better at it.”

“I’m sure you are better than you think,” he told her as they pulled into the plaza housing Michael’s and a Barnes and Noble.

“You haven’t seen me in action.” Her stomach rumbled. “Hey, after we hit the bookstore, do you want to stop at a restaurant and get a bite to eat? If you’re not hungry, I can just dash over to McDonald’s and get something.”

“I could use a meal, too. What do you suggest?”

Megan looked around at their choices. “With your appetite, Eaten Park. They have a great buffet and salad bar to go with your meal. My treat.”

**A reader once asked if I was from Southwestern PA, where Eat’n Park originated, because they knew and loved that restaurant chain.  I could have sworn we had Eat’n Park down in Maryland, too, which is why I added it to the story. But it turns out, I was misremembering things. They were certainly in State College (home of Penn State) where I went to grad school, but the chain doesn’t extend to Maryland (where we moved after Penn State). Since we’re in a universe where Steve Rogers is real, I decided the chain has indeed expanded into Maryland and that explains how Megan and Steve can eat there. Otherwise, I’d have to admit that I made a mistake.**

Megan’s stomach growled again, this time loudly enough for Steve to hear it, too. “Let’s eat first,” he said smiling at her. “But, I’m paying.

Megan blushed and nodded her agreement. There was more than one way to win the battle of the bill.

**Looking back, I think Megan is trying to establish her post-Randy independence here.**

Once they were seated and Steve was busy assembling a salad, she slipped from the booth to use the restroom. On her way, she located the cashier and handed over $40 in cash. “My chivalrous friend is insisting he’s going to pay for our meal. Please just have our server bring the change when he asks for the check. We’re sitting in a booth along the windows near the salad bar.”

“Got it,” the server smiled at her as she took the money. “You’re sneaky.”

Megan smiled back at her. “You have no idea.”

Over lunch, the conversation drifted from books, to history and then current events. It would be too easy to fall for Steve and get her heart broken in the process. He was so genuine, it was hard for her to believe he hadn’t been snatched up already, except for the way he was still grieving for his past life and keeping mostly to himself. Megan knew that as he adjusted better and started to open up more, he’d have his pick of partners. Hopefully, they’d stay friends. She knew she had plenty of her own healing to do before she started dating again, but dang if he wasn’t just too perfect when it came to potential boyfriend material.

“Megan?”

“Hmm?” She answered automatically, focusing on her food and her thoughts.

“You’re brooding.”

Megan looked up and saw his gorgeous blue eyes looking at he with worry. “What?”

“You’re so serious all of a sudden. What’s wrong?”

Megan blinked and shook her head slightly. “Sorry. Just got lost in my own thoughts there, thinking about past choices and the paths they lead to.” She scrambled to divert the conversation in a new direction. “Do you mind talking about your past? How you got involved in the war?”

“I don’t mind.” He shrugged, going along with the change in topic though she could still see concern in his gaze. “I wanted to enlist, I was too sick and weak to get in.” He looked down shyly, “I wouldn’t take no for an answer. Did you know I tried multiple times before Dr. Esrkine got me in?”

“That can’t have been legal. What’d you do, move around from recruiting station to recruiting station and try to stay ahead of the record keepers?”

“Pretty much. The last time I tried was when Bucky headed out. Dr. Erskine came in and offered me a chance. The papers were signed and I headed off to a training camp.”

“What did your parents think about all this?”

“They were dead by then. Father was taken out by mustard gas in World War I serving in the 107th infantry the year I was born. Mother died when I was 22 and studying in art school. That was all before Pearl Harbor was attacked.”

“Your mother must have been incredibly resilient to raise you by herself in that era.”

“She was. Anyway, we trained at camp, I was picked for Project Rebirth, and the rest is history.”

“Not so fast. When did you find out what was involved with his experiments? Didn’t someone talk to you about the risks involved and give you a chance to decline? I know informed consent rules were not in force, but surely they told you what you were up against.”

**Megan is coming at this with her modern education in informed consent. She’s in for a real education when she finds out how little Steve was told about the procedure.**

“A little bit. It didn’t matter to me. It was the chance I’d been waiting for to serve my country.”

“Time out.” Megan sat back in her seat, reeling a bit from his matter of fact narration about a potentially lethal experience he’d subjected himself to. “This goes deeper than wanting to serve. There were plenty of ways to help the war effort stateside.”

“But men my age were enlisting, Megan. I had to try.”

“Okay.” There was no point arguing. “So how bad was the treatment? It couldn't have been easy on your body.”

Steve shook his head. “I tried not to scream, but at one point, I heard them calling for Dr. Esrkine to shut it down. I told them I could take it and to keep going. So they did. He was a good man. He lost his whole family to the Nazis and wanted nothing more than to stop the slaughter. He’s the first friend I lost to Hydra. I was still trying to walk in my new body and they shot him down in front of us.”

“What happened then?”

“They wanted to keep me for research since Dr. Esrkine took the serum formula with him to his grave. I didn’t sign up to be a lab rat. So they sent me off to sell war bonds.”

“That had to have been miserable being up on stage like that.” Megan couldn’t imagine this shy, introverted Steve performing on stage in a cheesy skit. She let the lab rat comment pass.

Steve nodded a little. “Probably as miserable as watching me. But sales went up in every city I performed in.” He shrugged one shoulder slightly. “At least I was helping.”

“What changed? What made you leave the U.S.O. stage behind?”

“Peggy.” He gave her a wry smile. “It always comes back to Peggy. I think she knew how frustrated I was. She found me in one of the camps in Europe and challenged me to do more. And then she told me how the 107th had gone out to fight Schmidt and was M.I.A. That was Bucky’s unit. Howard Stark dropped me behind the lines from his plane and I was able to help break the guys out. We walked back to base and they were forced to acknowledge that I could do a bit more than just raise money.” Steve dug into his meal again.

“Bucky, not Peggy,” Megan corrected.

**Again, she’s thinking out loud and not really considering how insensitive she’s being. She’s just trying to understand this fascinating person and what he’s saying doesn’t quite add up.**

“Hmm?” He looked up at her, confused.

“I’m going to go armchair psychiatrist on you and say that you have some major abandonment issues at work,” she said, pointing her fork at him before she stabbed it into her chicken. “Bucky’s not just your brother, he’s your anchor. When he left, you had to follow him any way you could. You were so desperate to follow him that you risked your life in a half-baked experiment. You became an active duty fighter only when he was captured. It’s all about Bucky. That’s why you’re so adrift now. You’ve spent so much of your life trying to follow him you never thought about forging your own path.”

Steve rocked back his seat with a sharp intake of breath, staring at her.

**She finally realizes she was really insensitive in how she shared her thoughts. Ooops! She’s been listening to everything he’s told her, trying to understand him. That’s well and good. But she’s been trying all along to be respectful of his sensitive past and now she’s undermined all of that progress with letting her mouth get ahead of her. It’s an honest mistake on her part; she’s just trying to figure out what makes him tick. And now all of her baggage from Randy makes its weight felt as well.**

Mortified, Megan dropped her eyes, giving him what privacy she could. “I’m sorry. I’ll shut up now.” She grabbed the menu. “Do you want dessert? The apple pie uses canned apples, so I suggest you skip that. Their banana cream is to die for.”

She was horrified she had dissected his motives so boldly. Wanting to understand him was one thing, but pretending she knew what motivated him crossed a million lines. Her face grew red in shame and she felt tears welling up in her eyes. When was she going to learn to think first and talk later rather than think out loud? “I was out of line and I am _really_ sorry I said any of that.”

“You’re right.” His voice was so soft she could barely hear him.

“It’s _not_ alright. I had no right to—” She took a deep breath, still refusing to look up. “Let’s just delete the last five minutes.”

“Megan, look at me.” He took the dessert menu from her and she forced herself to meet his gaze. She owed him that much. “Friends tell each other the truth, even when it hurts.”

She shook her head. “Not when the questions weren’t even asked.”

“Especially then.”

“But I—”

“Have nothing to apologize for. I think you’re right about Bucky. Now that you’ve pointed it out, it’s pretty obvious.”

“That doesn’t excuse—”

“You are just trying to understand me and I appreciate that, actually. For some reason, you see me pretty clearly, faults and all. I prefer that to the way so many people only see the Captain. We’re good.”

**This certainly threw Steve off balance, but he’s really not offended so much as surprised. Yes, it would have been nicer if she’d kept her thoughts to herself. But Steve also appreciates that she’s trying to understand him as a person. She’s looking past the Captain America facade (that she barely knows anything about) and trying to see the living, breathing, grieving person. She wants to understand him, and demonstrates with her insensitive comments that she has really been listening to everything he’s said and giving him her full focus. I think Steve is touched by this, once he takes the time to think about it. In a world where people look at him to figure out what he can do for them, Megan is looking at him and trying to get to know him.**

“You’re kind.”

“Do you really want dessert?”

Megan shook her head. “I’m stuffed. You?”

“Homemade pie is better.” He caught their server’s eye and she came over. “Could you bring the check and her change, please?”

“Right away,” the server said before looking questioningly at Megan.

She shrugged and mouthed, “Busted.”

He smiled at her as soon as the server left them. “I have very good hearing. You just upgraded yourself to a nicer helmet plus a jacket to go with it.”

 


	3. C7-10 Commentary on Sundae through Heavy Gift

The following weekend, Megan was nearly bursting out of her skin in anticipation of Steve’s visit. He had made good on his promise to buy her a helmet and jacket and she had been aghast at the cost of both of them. Steve just smiled and said he had a lot of back pay to spend and that it wasn’t open to negotiation. It was infuriating how stubborn he could be. But she thought she might have found a way to pay him back. If he would just get here, she would be able to see if she’d found a way to make up for her blunt observations.

**Not as aghast as I was when I priced these items in my own research for the story. Yikes!**

Despite her impatience, she startled violently when he knocked on her door.

“What’s wrong?” Something in her face alarmed him since he set his helmet down immediately and took her hand. “Your hands are clammy.”

“I’m fine. Come in. I have something for you.” She pulled him inside, forcing herself to take a deep breath and take the time to close and lock the door. “It’s on the table. Go ahead and open it.”

He took his jacket off and hung it on the back of one of the chairs, looking at her questioningly.

“I owed you after last weekend and the things I said.” Megan held up her hands to ward off her protest. “I needed to do this. I hope you like it. If not, stick it in your closet.”

The item was large and flat. Carefully, he turned it over and cut the tape with his fingernails to avoid tearing the paper. It was pure torture watching him open it so carefully, but she knew that when he had grown up, something like wrapping paper was carefully saved to be used again. He wasn’t trying really to torment her by opening it more and more slowly….

“Why don’t we have some tea first?” Steve said, setting the package down only half opened. “You’re worse than a kid at Christmas.”

**He is such a pain in the arse some times!**

“I’m going to call Director Fury and ask him to put you back in the ice if don’t open it right now.”

“He won’t listen. Are you sure you don’t want to wait until Christmas?”

“Steve…”

His smile just grew wider and he unfolded the last of the paper. He read the writing on the back of the frame. “Dedication of new S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ July 4, 1946.” He gave Megan a puzzled glance then turned the frame over.

Megan watched the emotions flash across his face: grief, longing, love, pride… and several other that merged into a blur she couldn't process. He swallowed hard and continued to stare at the picture. “I’ve never seen…. Where did? How?” Tears welled up in his eyes.

“I’ll give you two some time alone and then I’ll tell you all about it,” Megan said softly. She put on a kettle of water for tea and excused herself to use the bathroom. In her small apartment, it was really the only place she could retreat to.

When she emerged a few minutes later, Steve was sitting at the table, studying the photograph where it now sat on her bookshelf, leaning up against the books with the frame bottom barely an inch away from the edge of the shelf. “It’s the most beautiful photograph of her I’ve ever seen.”

“Agreed, and I’ve spent much of the last week looking at every photograph of her I could find. Maria Hill came to the rescue. The fact you are in the photo, too, well, that was just Providence.”

“Tell me.”

“I’ll tell you the story about the photograph first, and then how I got my hands on it. Tea?”

“Sure.” He didn’t look away from the photograph, even when she put a hot mug of tea in front of him.

Megan sat down at the table and studied the image of Peggy again. The navy blue matte perfectly matched the color of Peggy’s suit and Stetson Stratoliner hat, save for the red ribbon hatband that happened to match her lipstick. She stood in front of a stone wall, presumably the lobby of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. In her hands and leaning against her chest, she held both a framed photograph of pre-serum Steve Rogers in his army uniform and a single red rose that bore a yellow ribbon. But as nicely dressed as she was, it was the look on her face that took the photograph from beautiful to stunning.

**As if Peggy didn’t pick her lipstick to perfectly match the ribbon! My heart breaks for Peggy and all she had to go through after Steve’s plane went down. Those were tough times for women, and she didn’t fit in the traditional mold. I’m sorry that Agent Carter won’t get a season three, because as flawed as the series was, it did address how difficult it was to be a career oriented woman in a time when only certain careers were “acceptable” for women, and then only until they got married.**

Peggy wasn’t looking at the camera. Rather her gaze was focused somewhere over the photographer’s shoulder. She was peering into the past and clearly thinking about Steve. Her mouth had just a hint of a smile, and her eyes shone with love and pride. Looking closely, you could tell there was just a hint of extra moisture pooling near her lower lids. Strong and proud, she held the photo of Steve in graceful hands that caressed the wood of the simple frame.

“As you read on the back, the photograph was taken at the dedication to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s new headquarters. Before that, they had been working out of rented office space. It turns out that Peggy picked the name. She wanted the agency to be named S.H.I.E.L.D. after your shield. From there, it was just a case of coming up with a mash-up of words to fit.

“One other thing she insisted on was that photograph of you. According to the newspaper clippings, it was her favorite. Everyone else wanted a photograph of Captain America in full uniform. Their second choice was Captain Rogers in military dress uniform. Peggy, however, insisted on that photo. She said she never wanted it forgotten that strength of character was the most important trait in any agent, not athletic prowess or military medals. She refused to back down. She said they could decorate the entire building any way they wanted, but that photograph was the one that was going in the lobby. They hung it up at the dedication ceremony. Of course before that, there were speeches, and she stood to the side of the podium holding your picture while the politicians blathered on. She was the one who hung it in place. There was quite the kerfuffle that she took two steps up a small step-stool in heels to do so. She silenced them with a look.”

“I can imagine,” Steve said softly. “That sounds just like her.”

**Can’t you just see Peggy Carter picking that photo as the hill to die on when the entire S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters is being built and decorated? We know that photo was important to her from Agent Carter. Pre-serum Steve made an impression on her and she’s adamant that Pre-Serum Steve, not Captain America, is the man memorialized in the lobby.**

“One of the other photos I found had ‘Pit-dog Peggy’ written in pencil on the back. I don’t know how many people had the guts to call her that to her face, though.

“Not unless they wanted to take a punch to the jaw. The first recruit who tried to sass her discovered she had a mean right hook. He dropped like a stone.” Steve smiled at the memory and looked at Megan for the first time since he’d opened the package.

“That must have been something to see! Now for the story of how I got my hands on it. I started with what I could find online, which wasn’t much. From there, I tried the libraries with old newspapers and magazines that had been saved to microfilm. I found a few photographs, but nothing really special. So, I went to see Agent Hill to see if she had any ideas. The next day, she brought me a folder from S.H.I.E.L.D.’s archives. As soon as I saw that photograph, I knew it was the one I was looking for. She signed the necessary copyright forms and let me take it to a photography and framing studio where they enlarged it and framed it for me. The original is safely back in the archives.”

**Respecting copyrights and giving credit where it is due are very important to me. I assigned failing grades to students who thought plagiarism was an issue that didn’t matter to them. I made it matter. It’s pretty simple: don’t steal. Give credit where it is due. If you use another person’s work as permitted by fair use laws, give credit. If you want to use their work in a way that goes beyond fair use, get permission. Most people will gladly grant it. I’m sure the framing studio was pleasantly surprised when Megan arrived with the signed permission forms in hand.**

“You read about her life then, after the war?” Steve dropped his eyes back to his tea.

“I did.”

“What did you find?” His voice was quiet.

Megan could tell he was still coming to terms with the loss of the life he had known, so she hedged her answer. “She tried to make each day count and live a life that she felt honored your memory.”

“Did she marry?”

“The Peggy in that photograph isn’t married. She’s still your Peggy, the one who’s grieving and trying to find her way forward.” Megan put her hand on his arm. “As far as what came next in her life, are you sure you’re ready to know the answer to that question?”

“I don’t know.”

“The next time you ask me, I’ll tell you. For now, though, why don’t you just enjoy knowing how proud she was of you and how hard she was working to make something good come out of your sacrifice? I’ll see what else I can find out about her life after she retired from S.H.I.E.L.D. Yes, I know that she lived long enough to retire. I don’t know when she died, though. I’ll find out.”

“Okay. That reminds me…” Steve reached over to his jacket and pulled two books out of an inner pocket. He laid them both on the table. “I’m ready for the next Narnia book if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Let me get it for you.” She took the top book and swapped it for another on her shelf, then picked up another from her end table, trading it for the one Steve hadn’t mentioned.

Steve reached for the tablet and pen that was lying on the table while saying aloud, “What are we making today?” _Keep talking. Stark gave me a way to check for bugs._

**As a writer, it’s pretty awesome to be able to have a Billionaire Genius Inventor provide devices on demand!**

“I have a couple of ideas. Let me get my recipe box and you can let me know how ambitious you feel like being.” Megan got up and started rambling on about how much she had enjoyed reading _The Horse and His_ _Boy_ as a horse-crazed middle school student. While she chatted, she dug in her pantry for supplies and made a point of making some extra noise as she pretended to hunt for vital ingredients. Steve, meanwhile, was walking around her apartment with his phone in hand and some tiny gadget connected to it with a thin wire. He was frowning. Damn.

**I loved the idea of riding a horse that could talk to me when I read that book. It would certainly make things easier when I go riding!**

Megan tore the page he had written on from the pad and took it to the sink, burning it as she always did when their silent conversations were done. She sent the ashes down the garbage disposal then slammed a cupboard door shut. “I forgot to buy Worcestershire sauce and you cannot make a good meatloaf without it. So we either have to make a grocery store run or go to plan B.”

“Let’s go get some hot fudge sundaes, stop at the grocery store, and then come back here.” Steve held up two fingers, and then pointed in the general direction of where the bugs were hidden.

“When it comes to sweets, you are as bad as a twelve-year-old,” Megan chided him. She held her new jacket out for scanning and stood while he checked the rest of her outfit, blushing slightly as he did so. When he gave her a thumbs up, she grabbed her purse and held that up for inspection, too. The frown returned, so she pulled out her driver’s license, debit card, and keys, which all passed, so she stuffed them into the pockets of her jeans.

“Don’t forget your helmet.”

“We’re taking your bike?” she squeaked. So much for just dashing to the corner market a few blocks away.

“I’m taking you to the best ice cream stand I’ve found so far. You’ll love it.”

In a daze, Megan let him lead her to his waiting motorcycle. He double checked the fit of her helmet, showed her where to put her feet, and helped her get on. The next thing she knew, the engine beneath her vibrated to life and she had her arms wrapped around Steve’s waist as she pressed herself against his back.

“Hold on tight!” he told her, even putting his hands on hers to get her to hold onto him more securely.

“You just gave away your motive!” she fired back, trying to hide her fear beneath false bravado.

“There’s a tattoo shop next to the ice cream stand,” he teased as they took off down the street.

****

Despite her misgivings, she eventually started to relax a bit. Steve handled the bike expertly, but never in a way that felt reckless or out of control. The bike was not nearly as loud as so many motorcycles she’d driven around had been and she made a mental note to ask about that when they stopped. The feel of the wind coming around Steve’s solid body was exhilarating and it seemed like only a few minutes before they came to a stop and he cut the engine.

“Better than you thought it would be?” he asked as he took off his helmet and hung it from a handlebar.

Megan nodded. “I don’t ever want to ride solo, but you drive in a way that does make me feel safe.”

“Good. Let’s find a spot away from the others so we can talk while we eat.”

She nodded again, noting with some disgust the wary and disapproving looks some of the other patrons were giving her as they took their place in line. Typical. She couldn’t even point out that they were giving dirty looks to Captain America and his companion since the last thing they needed was to attract attention.

“Hey, baby, you said you’d get me a new tattoo at the shop beside the ice cream stand,” she purred as she sidled up beside Steve and stuck her thumb through the belt-loop on the back of his jeans. “But I don’t see a tattoo parlor anywhere.”

The women behind them in line pulled her young son closer and shifted so she was between Megan and the child.

“That was before you told me where you wanted it, kitten.” Steve replied without hesitation. It delighted her that he was willing to play along. “I can’t stand the thought of another man seeing you like that. We’ll have to go see Sasha to get you inked there.”

“Ah, baby, you’re so sweet.” Megan ducked her head, hiding it in his shoulder to cover the laugh she was barely holding back.

“Why don’t you go find us a place to sit down, kitten? I’ll be right there.”

“As long as you remember that I like extra nuts…” Megan replied, sauntering way with an extra sway in her hips. “On my sundae, too,” she tossed over her shoulder.

The woman behind Steve took two steps back from him, dragging her son with her.

Megan let her own smile escape as she headed to a picnic table a good distance from the others.

“What was that all about?” Steve asked her softly as he put a hot fudge sundae in front of her, covered in extra peanuts just like she’d requested.

“Some of the people in line were looking at us like we ate children for breakfast. If I acted friendly, we might not be able to get a chance to talk. So I went with pushing their buttons instead.”

**Even though tattoos are becoming more common and accepted, there is certainly a stigma against people who have them. While I don’t have any myself, I certainly admire a lot of the art I have seen over the years.**

She dug into the sundae and moaned in pleasure as the creamy ice cream and warm hot fudge hit her tongue. “How’d you find this place? It’s amazing.”

“Out riding.” He took another bite of his own sundae. “I see why you reacted to the book list like you did. The stories in them are horrifying.”

Megan nodded. “Who do you think suggested them? Director Fury?”

“I don’t know. Stark says Fury’s secrets have secrets and I have to agree with him on that. But, we haven’t been discreet about reading books and talking about them. The whole idea was that it was safe and didn’t lead to discussions of the classified work we’re both involved with.”

“I started wondering if Fury called me to his office when he did just so it would set my work back. Maybe I screwed up by pushing back and making him wait.”

“Megan, you can’t start thinking like that. It will make you crazy if you keep second guessing yourself. You did what you thought was right at the time and you need to keep doing that.”

“I sabotaged my experiments.” She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “I managed to trigger some fungal contamination in the incubator and I used that as an excuse to ditch the cells I was working on. Then I was yelled at for destroying a rare stock of primary cells, not that they told me ahead of time they were primary, which I pointed out. I’ve hardly slept all week, wondering if I did the right thing. But today you confirmed my apartment’s bugged and I don’t know who else to trust besides you.”

**Primary cells are once harvested directly from the host and maintained in culture. They don’t divide indefinitely on their own, so the only way to get more is to go get another donation. That makes them precious, hence the scolding Megan received.**

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this,” Steve told her, his voice low and sounding guilty.

“You didn’t. I was involved the day I first went to work at S.H.I.E.L.D. I don’t regret for one moment getting to know you.”

His eyes were sad and distant. “I still feel responsible.”

**That’s going to be written on Steve’s headstone someday.**

“Fight the urge. We need to figure out what it all means.” Megan leaned her elbows on the picnic table and rubbed the muscles on the back of her neck “I’ve spent the last week tearing the incubator apart and cleaning every nook and cranny. Did you know that some fungi can eat the glue used to adhere a rubber gasket to the metal frame inside the incubator? Microbes are amazing, but a pain to clean out of an incubator. I’ve gone as slowly as I can, but I have to bring that incubator back on line tomorrow if it passes the tests on CO2 levels. It was a temporary stalling tactic, but one I can’t use again any time soon. No one will believe I’m suddenly that bad at preventing contamination. We need to figure out what the book list message was about. That’s our only solid clue.”

**I didn’t make any of that up. It’s all true and was the source of great frustration for the cell culture team in my graduate school laboratory. Cleaning an incubator isn’t like cleaning your home oven. _Everything_ has to be as free from microbes as you can make it before you put the pieces back together. You autoclave what you can, disinfect and scrub the parts you can’t, and become rather superstitious and paranoid as a result of enduring this process time and time again! And once incubator is assembled, you have to verify it holds temperature, humidity, and carbon dioxide levels before you’ll trust your precious cells to it. **

**Geek side note: Google the bicarbonate equation to see what happens to carbon dioxide in water. Our bodies use that to regulate the pH of our blood (and all other tissues as a result) and we use it in the laboratory to keep the pH of cells in culture happy, too. It’s also why the increasing levels of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere are acidifying the oceans and killing the coral reefs. Coral reefs are the nursery/ tropical rainforests of the ocean. Dead coral is a Very. Bad. Thing. for reasons too numerous to list here.)**

“Well, the book about the Tuskegee men1 seems to be a message about government research and informed consent. I understand better now why you were so upset that I wasn’t told more about the risks of Dr. Erskine’s serum. But, Megan, I volunteered for that. Those men, they thought they were being treated and they were lied to by the very government that is supposed to protect them. I just don’t understand how that relates to S.H.I.E.L.D. now. The IRBs2 that came after make it nearly impossible to repeat that type of study ever again. Your own reaction is proof the new mindset about informed consent is well established in the scientific community.”

“What about the second book?” Megan asked him quietly.

“What happened to Mrs. Lacks3 is awful. I feel so bad for her family. Her cells, though… so many good things have come from their use. I can’t fault the researchers for using them even though they really should have gotten permission. But again, it happened a long time ago before the new mindset was established.

“I know you do work with cells at S.H.I.E.L.D., but beyond that, I’m not sure what to think. Director Fury promised me that no one was trying to recreate the serum from Project Rebirth. Even if I don’t entirely believe him, they’ve never been successful, so why the warning now?”

“Is your middle initial G, by any chance?”

“Yeah. My middle name is Grant. What’s that got to do with anything?”

Megan wiped the tears from her cheeks, unable to hold them back any longer. “The cells I’ve been working with? All of them had the same root code as part of their name. SGR. SGRkid, SGRhep, SGRlym… kidney, hepatocyte, lymphocyte. I think the primary cells in the lab are all from you. And I’m thinking you didn’t give permission.”

**Remember, primary cells don’t divide indefinitely in the lab. When was the last time _you_ donated some kidney cells for research? Liver? Spleen? Probably never. Let’s assume you don’t like biopsy needles? Well, we’ll just harvest them from you the next time you show up in medical and have knife and gunshot wounds. Or we’ll take them before you wake up from a seventy-year nap in the ice. That’s what I envision has been happening to Steve without him realizing. **

“Ross,” Steve whispered. “That explains why Ross has been hanging around.” He shook his head as he looked at Megan. “I don’t know if you’re in more or less danger if I tell you about Ross.”

“I’m no spy. The less I know the better, at least for now. I’ll tell you as much as I know about the work going on, which isn’t much, and then you can decide what to do next. Can you trust Stark to help you?”

Steve nodded. “There is a lot more to him that what he shows the public.” He put his hand over hers, looking at her with a very serious expression. “This is potentially very dangerous, Megan. I don’t think S.H.I.E.L.D. tracks their own employees as a rule. If someone on the outside is watching you, they think your work is very important. If it’s someone on the inside at S.H.I.E.L.D…. I don’t know what to think.”

“I have to keep my projects moving forward, but I can tell you what they’re about. We know my apartment is bugged, so I honestly think no matter what I do next, I’m already too involved to be ignored. They just don’t know that we know. Someone on our side is trying to give us a heads-up, at least.” Megan shrugged and gave him a grim smile. “I’ll do whatever you say, Captain.”

————

1 _Bad Blood: The Tuskegee Syphilis Experiment_ by James H. Jones

2Institutional Review Board, which are panels of impartial individuals who oversee and review research involving humans and ensure that abuse in the name of research is a thing of the past. If you have ever participated in a study and had to sign forms indicating what harm you might suffer or benefits you might receive and wondered why you had to sign such “silly” paperwork just to participate in a survey, you can thank the IRB. While the paperwork can be a huge pain and hassle, an IRB it is a necessary and valuable tool to ensure that all humans are treated with care and respect.

3 _The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks_ by Rebecca Skloot

 

 

**I love science. It’s in my blood. So I can’t help but bring that to this story as appropriate. Megan being a scientist isn’t an accident, but I don’t see her as a Mary Sue. I’ve tried really hard to make her a realistic character with plenty of flaws. Some I share with her, many are unique to her. I never set out to write a long story in this universe, so I took some shortcuts early on so I could get to the parts I really wanted to write: finding Steve’s belongings at Rebecca’s house and organizing a reunion for him where he could connect to his past. Since Megan was never meant to be more than a vehicle for getting to those scenes, I borrowed heavily from my own life so I could give her a history and background that felt authentic.**

**The joke’s on me. My mother has shared many a laugh with me as she read this story and recognized those elements. Good heavens, the last time I was at her house, I got the idea of Steve knitting socks, having done some research on life on the home front. I have my grandmother’s journals were she shares she reported as a volunteer to roll bandages for the war effort. I never learned how to knit, but my mother knows how and remembers her own grandmother darning socks… that lead to a discussion of how many needles were used. And down the YouTube tutorial rabbit hole I went. I now know about double ended knitting needles and the fact one pattern uses five needles at once. Who knew? A few days later, I sent her a chapter where Steve was knitting. For everyone else, it was just a part of the story. For my mom, it was a reminder of our discussion of sock knitting and her grandmother’s needlework.**

 

The next two weeks passed in a blur. Megan and Steve continued to have lunch together a couple of times a week and discussed fiction works that had no bearing on their own confidential assignments at S.H.I.E.L.D. In the lab, Megan proceeded with her assigned experiments, asking only the questions essential to ensuring the experiments were well designed. She made a point of appearing to be disinterested in the larger project, saying she knew it was probably classified and that she didn't need to be bothered with details that had no direct bearing on her work.

To anyone watching, she was the model employee, hardworking and focused. Inside, she was falling apart. Nightmares of being hunted across open plains of ice and show disrupted her sleep. She tried to act like nothing was wrong, but waking up Sunday morning with cramps was just too much. Of course, she had to take some time to pay the bills coming due and see if she could wrangle her budget into letting her take riding lessons again. Maybe it was for the best that Steve was going to have his Sundays free again so he didn’t have to put up with her any more. She was hardly cheerful company.

When he knocked at her door shortly after noon, she startled. How had the morning gotten away from her? She was still in her robe, her hair a mess and damp from the shower, and the table piled in paperwork. Crap.

“Megan?” Steve couldn’t keep the shock from his expression when she opened the door. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything, but nothing you can fix.” She waved him in. “Sorry, the morning got away from me in my self-pity party. Let me pull on some clothes and we can get started.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” He toed of his shoes and hung his jacket on the back of the door before setting his helmet down.

Megan thought about it but decided that she didn’t want to share that side of herself with whoever was listening. “Not really,” she said, motioning to her ears so he’d know why. “I’ll be fine once the medicine kicks in.”

“Are you sick? We don’t have to do this today if you don’t feel good.”

“No, I’m not sick. It’s just run-of-the-mill PMS with the cramps and bad mood that go with it.”

“How about some tea?” His blue eyes were caring if no longer worried. 

**I admit to not having researched how PMS was viewed by society, much less the medical community in the time Steve grew up. I assume I’d be horrified. I also assumed that as the son of a nurse, Steve has deep empathy for any woman experiencing the joys of cramping, bloating, etc. that often accompany a monthly period. He knew his mom was made of tough stuff, so if she felt under the weather on a monthly basis, it wasn’t a character flaw or a mental health issue; it was _real_. As he toured with the women in the U.S.O., that view was only reinforced. Steve knows what it’s like to have your body betray you. If anything, he picked up a few tricks for dealing with the common symptoms. **

Megan nodded and went to her dresser to dig out some clothes while Steve filled the tea kettle and started it heating. The phone rang as she was en route to the bathroom to change. She looked at the caller ID and sighed heavily, not wanting to deal with her brother right now. “Hello?”

“Megan? I have a question for you,” Carl said into her ear.

She forced herself to be patient and cheerful. “What’s up, sweetie?”

“Andrew’s having trouble breathing. Do you think I should take him to the hospital?”

“What kind of trouble?” Megan sat down at the table and leaned her head on her hand. She got so sick of playing twenty questions, but that was how Carl worked. Frustration wasn’t going to change that.

“His nose is stuffy.”

“Did you suction the mucus out with the bulb?” She glanced up at Steve, who was looking at her with concern. “Brother,” she mouthed to him, and he nodded.

“Yes, but he hates that. It just made him cry more.”

“Is he cough—” Megan heard the classic croupy cough in the background. “Is that Andrew I hear coughing?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I want you to look carefully at his lips. Think about how your lips turn blue when you get really cold in the swimming pool. Are his lips blue like that or nice and pink like usual?” Steve came over and sat down at the table with her when he heard the last bit. The kind sympathy in his eyes nearly made her loose it. She was really, really going to miss Sunday afternoons with him. She passed him the graduation certificate she’d printed up last night and shoved the stack of bills aside.

“Yeah, they’re a little blue.”

“How about when you look at his fingernails. Down near the base, not the tip where you trim them. What do his fingernails look like? What color are they?”

“Kind of grey. Is that bad? Should we take him to the hospital?”

“Yeah, he needs to go to the emergency room. What are the roads like there? I know you were supposed to get snow.”

“It’s freezing rain.”

“Okay, Carl, you need to hang up and call 911. Tell them your seven-month-old son has croup and has blue lips. Ask them to send an ambulance.”

“We can take him to the hospital,” Carl said.

“No, not in freezing rain. If you end up in the ditch, you can’t do anything to help Andrew. The ambulance has oxygen and breathing medicine on board that the medics can use to treat Andrew as soon as they get to your house. Hang up, call 911, then call me back as soon as the firemen get there. Is Stephanie at home?”

“No, she’s at work. What should I do with Keith and Christopher?”

“After you call the ambulance, see if they can stay with your neighbor. You’ll need to ride in the ambulance with Andrew. I’ll call Stephanie and Mom and let them know what’s going on, okay? Call 911, then the neighbor, then me, okay?”

“Okay. Bye.”

Megan put down the phone and rested her forehead on the table. “Can this day suck any more?”

“Can I help?” Steve asked.

“No, but thanks. There’s nothing much we can do from here. They’re six hours away by car. The local volunteer fire department is top notch. They’ll have someone there in a matter of minutes and take care of things until the ambulance gets there.”

Megan fetched her cell phone from her purse and sat back down at the table. She didn’t want to tie up her landline making phone calls until she knew a first responder was on site.

“Graduation, huh?” Steve held up the certificate she’d printed for him. She couldn't quite read the expression on his face, but he didn’t seem happy.

“I’ll have you know that you the very first person to graduate from Dr. Buchwald’s cooking school.” Megan dialed her phone and called her mother, relaying what had happened with Carl.

Steve got up when the teakettle whistled and fixed her a cup of tea while she talked, then sat with her at the table while she called Stephanie. She was still on the phone with Stephanie when her landline rang again and Carl told her that some of the volunteer firefighters had arrived. When she finally hung up both phones and laid them on the table, she was drained. She sank back into her chair and gave Steve a wan smile. “How much of that did you follow?”

“All of it, I think. Carl doesn’t problem solve very well, does he?”

Megan shook her head. “He’s our miracle baby. But—” She cut herself off, mindful of the bugs in her apartment. “It’s a long story best left for another day.”

**And based on a real-life person I know.**

“Go get dressed. I’m taking you out.”

“I’m okay.”

“You look like you need a hot fudge sundae. C’mon, the fresh air will do you good.”

Megan studied him for a moment, then nodded. He looked like he wanted to talk. 

When she returned to the table, Steve handed her back her phone and put his finger to his lips. She nodded, figuring he’d explain what that was all about later. He turned his own phone so she could see a text he’d sent to someone named Jarvis, asking him to reroute her landline calls to her cell phone. When she was done reading it, he then showed her the reply indicating the task had been accomplished. It melted her heart to think he understood that she wanted to be in reach of her brother even though there was nothing more she could do to help.

****

Megan used the time on his bike to indulge in a few tears. She probably wasn’t going to get another chance to go riding like this with him now that cooking school was over. And while she knew her hormones were making her unusually sensitive today, the fact remained that she was still reeling from a breakup, lonely in her new town, and becoming too accustomed to Steve’s companionship. She had to force herself to expand her circle of friends and not stay with what was easy and comfortable or else she’d be in for a world of hurt when he let go of his own past and started living life again.

She drowned her sorrows in hot fudge with extra nuts. She almost started crying again when she realized he’d remembered her preference without being asked.

He didn’t press her to talk the entire time they ate, just watched her carefully and pretended not to notice her red eyes. It was a good reminder for her to talk less often. As her ex had reminded her frequently, she talked too much.

“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” he finally asked when she finished her sundae and wiped her mouth on the napkin. “You’re unusually quiet today.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Steve gave her a strange look, but didn’t answer until he’d thrown away their dishes and sat back down across from her at the picnic table. “That’s the second time you’ve made a negative comment about your conversation skills. Who has you thinking that you talk too much?”

“Randy.”

“He was wrong. I happen to like hearing what you’re thinking. You analyze everything around you.”

“I know. That’s my other bad habit. I over analyze and over share.”

**Megan has just started to process the abuse she suffered, not that she recognizes it as such at this point in time. She is really vulnerable about the “flaws” Randy pointed out, so Steve’s words here are extra meaningful to her.**

“No, you don’t. During the war, I learned how important it was to question everything and pay attention to details. Those details made the difference between life and death. Don’t devalue those skills just because you’re not fighting on the front lines. Besides, I’ve seen you at work and overheard what your coworkers say about you. The comments lean towards you being shy and quiet. If you’re nervous, I know you push back to keep others off balance. You only share your thoughts when you let your guard down. I'm honored you trust me that way.” He covered her hands with his own. “If you don't want to talk about what is bothering you, that’s okay. But if you do, I’m happy to listen.”

Megan couldn’t keep the tears back after that. The man was _good_ at giving off the cuff speeches. “Three things, four if you count the ambulance debacle.” Megan sighed. “And they’re all _stupid_ first-world problems that aren’t really problems. I’m just having a wallow day.”

**Steve has an entire team of screenwriters behind those amazing speeches, too.**

“You’re allowed to. What’s the first one?” He looked at her like he had all the time in the world to listen. He was a good listener like that, giving someone his full attention without any pressure or expectations they had to meet.

“I should know better than to mix paying bills with PMS. I woke up this morning nearly doubled over with cramps. But Carl’s lot rent is due soon and I needed to send another check to the lady I have deliver them groceries.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and fished in her jacket pocket for a tissue.

“You’re supporting them?”

“My mom and I are. Depending which expert you talk to, Carl is either mildly autistic, slow, has pervasive developmental delays, or all of the above. The real problem is that his wife Stephanie, is a no-good user with no more common sense than a baked potato. She has just as many issues as my brother does, but none of the kindness. I’d be able to forgive all of that if I actually thought she loved him. But if the way she treats him around us is any indication… it’s not what I’d call a happy marriage. Carl adores her despite it. So you end up with three kids being raised by parents who are mentally still kids themselves.”

Steve squeezed the hand he still held but didn’t interrupt.

“He and Stephanie both work, and they could get by if they knew how to handle money. But they’re like eight-year-old kids. On his payday, they think they’re rich and go spend it on stupid stuff. A few days later they can’t pay rent or the electric bill. Mom’s retired, she can’t afford to support them with the way they burn through money. Logical consequences don't work with them; Carl qualifies for government help on managing their budget but Stephanie refuses to sign them up. Mom and I can’t sit by and let those kids go hungry. Even though he doesn't know I’m the one paying his lot rent, he knows that there is an anonymous donor out there who has some groceries delivered once a week. Stephanie spends all of her paycheck on herself and expects Carl to support them. Mom bought an older trailer for them with the deal being he’d pay her rent to cover taxes, maintenance, and the lot rent for the trailer park they live in. But he just ‘forgets’ to pay rent and figures it doesn't matter. I cover that as best I can, too. It will get easier as I move up into better paying positions. But right now, it’s really hard.”

“You’re a good sister. He’s lucky to have you.”

“Thanks. But that leads to petty, selfish Megan’s pity party. I was going over my budget this morning after calling some riding stables yesterday. I can’t afford lessons. The barns charge more than twice what I was paying where I lived before. Until I get a better job, no horses for me. I’ll starve myself before those kids go hungry. But there is a very selfish part of me that resents the fact I can’t go riding once a week.”

“Megan, that doesn't make you a bad person. I know what it’s like to have limited money.” He lifted her chin with his fingers so she’d look at him.

“I know you do. Growing up poor with a single mom kind of drove that point home for you, didn’t it?”

 “Yeah. And there were times we got down about it, too. It’s okay. You can’t help how you feel. What matters is what you do. What’s the third thing?”

Megan blushed and looked down again, “You weren’t supposed to count.”

“Well, I did. So what’s the other thing?”

“Who’s Jarvis?”

Steve hesitated slightly before answering, “Tony Stark’s resident computer genius. I added him to your contacts on your phone. You can call or text him to switch your calls back to your landline when you’re ready.”

Megan pulled out her phone and verified that she now had a friend named Jarvis in her phonebook. “How did he even get access like that? It can’t be legal.”

“It probably isn’t.” Steve shrugged a little and smiled. “I don’t ask how Jarvis does what he does. I just don’t ask him to do anything unethical and trust he won’t get caught if he bends the rules a bit to get the job done. Given the choice of having whoever is listening to you in your apartment know that you’re forwarding calls because you had your phone company handle it, or have Jarvis do it on the sly, I picked the latter.”

**Megan, here is a big hint that Steve is a good man and a lousy soldier. He’ll put doing what’s right ahead of following the law if the two are in any conflict. You may as well learn this now… This is also an excellent example of Steve lying. He knows Jarvis hacked the phone company. It’s the best way to get the job done. But he’ll pretend he doesn’t know, look at you with those innocent blue eyes, and promise himself he’ll to do some extra time on his knees feeling guilty, because that’s what he does.**

“Thank you.” Megan toyed with the zipper pull of her jacket. “For someone from the forties, you do a pretty good job with all the modern tech.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to watch YouTube videos.”

“I guess so.”

“Family’s important. But that’s not the other thing bothering you.” Megan looked up and saw one corner of his mouth quirked up as he studied her. He wasn’t going to be deterred.

“I'm going to really miss having you over on Sunday afternoons. I don’t like cooking and it’s been really fun having you come over while we mess around in the kitchen and I get stuff ready for the week’s meals. It turned a chore into something I enjoyed. But I’ve seen what you’re packing for your lunches these days and I’ve eaten your apple pie. You just needed someone to get you started.” The words tumbled out in a single breath.

“I’ve had fun, too. There’s no reason we can’t keep doing that.”

**We all know he has such a _busy_ social life….**

“Steve, I’m a big girl. I’ll be okay.”

“I know you will. But you can’t blame me for wanting to spend time with you instead of watching videos on YouTube on the Sundays Fury doesn’t have me out on missions. Today, how about I fix us a pot of chili and we watch a movie while it simmers? I saw some DVDs on your bookshelf that I haven’t seen yet and it’s more fun to watch movies with a friend. You can curl up with a heating pad and stop pretending you’re not in pain. What do you say?”

Megan closed her eyes and nodded agreement. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

****

“Try not to look like I’m torturing you,” Megan said as she snapped the picture.

“I smiled,” Steve said. “See?” He pointed to the forced smile he had given the camera. In his digitized hands, he was holding up the front page of the Washington Post with Megan leaned against him, her arm outstretched to take the selfie.

“You grimaced, Steve. There’s a difference. But it will suffice for my purposes.” Megan locked the screen to her phone before she tucked it into her pocket. She took the newspaper from Steve, folded it, and put it under her arm. “I’ll see you Sunday.”

He nodded as he swung his leg over his bike. “Sure you don’t want a ride home?”

“I’m sure I don’t need to give you any more time to try to figure out what I need the picture for. I told you it’s a secret. I am not posting it to the internet or even moving it to the cloud. I’ll delete it on Sunday. You can witness. Okay?”

She watched him put his helmet on and fasten the chinstrap before strapping his shield to his back. “Puppy dog eyes are not going to wear me down, Steve.”

“Never had a dog, so I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Megan rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you Sunday.”

“You took a photo inside S.H.I.E.L.D.’s parking garage and not the lobby.” Steve added as he started up his bike.

“You’re very observant. Drive safely!” Megan waved and headed down the steps to the lower level so she could catch the bus to the Metro, smiling as she went. Steve didn’t realize she had overnight clothes packed in her bag and that she was heading straight to the Big Apple.

****

Shortly before noon on a dreary Saturday, Megan knocked on the door of an apartment in Brooklyn. “Mrs. Miller? I’m Megan Buchwald. We spoke on the phone.” Megan introduced herself to the elderly, grey haired woman who came to the door.

**I know that in the comics, she’s Rebecca Proctor. But the movies altered quite a bit of Steve and Bucky’s history, so I struck out on my own. I also had Rebecca be Bucky’s only sibling. Why? Because this was to be a short story and I didn’t need to have Megan visiting multiple siblings to collect stuff. I wanted to give Steve two boxes from his past. One sibling could do the job, so why write more. Short story, remember? I was still deluding myself.**

“Are you sure you’re not from the museum?” Piercing brown eyes scrutinized her from behind thick lenses in cats-eye frame glasses.

“I promise I am not here on an assignment for anyone else. In fact, I brought you a picture to prove that I know Steve Rogers.” Megan held up her phone so the woman could see it. “You can see he’s holding yesterday’s newspaper.” Megan held the somewhat rumpled paper beneath the phone so Mrs. Miller could compare the digital image to the paper in front of her.

“All right. Come on in.” The woman stepped back and gestured Megan into the tiny apartment. Megan looked around and felt like she was stepping back in time. The decor was straight out of the 1960’s.

“Coffee?” Mrs. Miller led Megan to the kitchen. A small metal and laminate table that looked like had been salvaged from an old diner was pushed up against the wall. 

“No, thank you. I'm not a coffee drinker, I'm afraid. I love the smell, but the taste is always such a disappointment. Please allow me to enjoy the aroma while you drink a cup.”

“Suit yourself. Sit.”

Megan did, setting her purse on the floor by her feet. She shrugged out of her jacket and hung it over the back of her chrome and vinyl chair. “Are these the pictures you mentioned?” she asked, gesturing to the small stack of old wallet-sized photographs lying in the middle of the table.

“Yup. Go ahead and look.”

Megan carefully laid them out in front of her. “Is that Bucky beside Steve? Such handsome lads.” In the photograph, two young boys that Megan guessed to be about eight years old were sitting on concrete steps, the darker haired boy had his arm around Steve’s scrawny shoulders.

“That’s James, alright. Even at that young age, the girls loved him.”

“I wonder what trouble he was plotting. The look in his eyes is rather mischievous.”

“Not trouble. Adventure.” Mrs. Miller corrected. “James liked to plan Adventures.”

“Steve helped with the planning from what he tells me.” Megan picked up the next photo. “Was this taken around the time of great wagon incident? I assume that’s you sitting in front of Steve?”

Mrs. Miller set her coffee mug down with a thump and eased herself into the chair. “What wagon incident?” she demanded sharply.

“Steve told me that Bucky found an old wagon and that the two of them figured out how to give you the horse you always wanted.”

“Mm.” Mrs. Miller studied her face and Megan let her, not flinching from the scrutiny. It was clear that Mrs. Miller still didn’t trust her. “Go on.”

“Well, as Steve told it, they got two grocery bags from your mother and Steve drew a horse head on one of them, and a harness on the other. Then Bucky dressed up like a horse and hauled you and Steve around in the wagon. What he didn’t consider was the inertia of you and Steve in the wagon as you went down the hill that was the alley behind the diner. He got knocked to the side and tore after you, watching as you, Steve, and the wagon were headed full tilt into some trash cans lined up in front of a brick wall. Steve said he wrapped himself around you and rolled you both out right before you crashed, breaking his arm in the process. You escaped with some minor cuts. The wagon, however, was never the same again.” Megan put the photograph down. “Do you mind if I use my camera to photograph these prints? I’d like to enlarge them and give them to Steve. He doesn’t have anything from his childhood and I know he would absolutely treasure having copies of these images. I cannot thank you enough for taking the time to show them to me.”

“You really are his friend, aren’t you?” The brown eyes were kinder now, and Megan could tell she’d finally convinced Mrs. Miller of her intentions.

“Yes, I am. And I deeply appreciate your caution. Steve has no privacy anymore and I know that bothers him.”

“Did he tell you what he used to call me?” The older women leaned forward, gazing at the photographs with a smile as the memories came rushing back.

“Bucky’s Becca.” Megan smiled and met Rebecca’s gaze. “How well do you remember him?”

“Not as well as I’d like. Two adventure-seeking boys didn’t have much use for a pesky little sister following them around wanting to join in all the time. And when they weren’t adventuring, Steve was sick and his mom kept him at home. James and I were not allowed to visit him unless his mother was home, but James snuck out anyway. I was a good girl and stayed home like Mother told me to.”

“Steve said he used to draw you pictures of the toys you wanted to have.”

“He did. I still have a few of them somewhere. Take the pictures, Megan Buchwald. I’m glad to know Steve hasn’t forgotten where he came from after all,” Rebecca pushed the entire stack of photographs over to Megan. “I wrote to him when they found him. He never wrote back.”

**That was just a throw-away idea I tossed out there. Once I accepted the fact that I had a monster on my hands, I made note of this and built on it.**

“I’m sure he never got your letter or he would have replied, Mrs. Miller. You were his family. Your letter probably got lost in a flood of Captain America fan mail sent to S.H.I.E.L.D. when he woke from the ice. Even now, I’m not sure how much of that he actually gets and now much is answered by staff sending a generic letter back. Let me give you his address.” Megan took a notepad from her purse and wrote down Steve’s mailing address at S.H.I.E.L.D. and his cell phone number. Below it, she wrote her own home address and phone number.

“I’m giving you Steve’s address at S.H.I.E.L.D. and his cell phone number as well as my home address and phone number. I have a feeling you’re going to be hearing from him very soon. He is going to be so pleased to receive these photographs and will make contact with you again. He’s been so lost, trying to adjust to a world that left him behind. May I share your mailing address with him?”

Rebecca nodded. “Wait here,” she said, getting up. She disappeared into the bedroom and Megan heard some shuffling. “I’m going to need some help after all,” Rebecca called to her. “I can’t manage both of them at once. Come on in here.”

Curious, Megan got up and followed Rebecca’s voice. She found Rebecca standing in the bedroom pointing to two cardboard boxes the size of banker’s boxes sitting on the floor. One of them had cancelled postage and an address written across the top. “Take these both out to the table.”

Megan obeyed, nearly busting with curiosity as she stacked the boxes on top of each other and carried them back to the kitchen. She gathered the loose photos from the table and set them aside so they wouldn’t get lost in the shuffle, then waited for Rebecca to join her.

“I need to sit,” Rebecca admitted, sagging back into her chair. “Open the one with the postage first.”

Megan set the other box on the floor and opened the one Rebecca had indicated. Inside, she found an envelope addressed to the family of James Barnes. She picked it up and looked questioningly at Rebecca, who nodded to her. “Read it.”

_“Dear. Mrs. Barnes,_

_I can hardly bear to imagine the grief you feel right now, receiving two of these packages. But Captain Rogers indicated that should something happen to him, his belongings should be sent to you….”_

Megan gasped and scanned to the bottom of the letter. It was signed by Peggy Carter. She sank heavily into her own chair. “Steve’s belongings from the war front were sent to your mother?”

Rebecca nodded, “That’s why I wrote to him. I figured he’d want them back. When he didn’t reply, I assumed the past hurt too much. So I did as Miss Carter instructed and kept them in the family. She was quite clear on that point. She said, “Steve would be mortified—”

Megan found the passage Rebecca was quoting and continued for her, reading aloud from the letter, “ _—to be made into a sideshow specimen for tourists to gawk at. I’m sending this box to you myself so that his wishes are respected. The politicians can have their images of Captain America. I only ask that you give Steve Rogers his privacy and keep his possessions in your family until such time as you deem appropriate to share them with the historians….”_

Megan wiped the tears from her eyes and folded the letter carefully before returning it to the envelope. “She really understood him. She loved him, you know. And he loved her. Thank you. Thank you for protecting him from the vultures.”

**If this image of Peggy sitting down to write those letters doesn’t leave you gutted, you are related to the Grinch. Two men, dead within days of each other, and poor Peggy is doing he best to do make sure their meager belongings are handled appropriately. She must have sobbed herself hoarse, then pulled herself together to get the job done. I _love_ Peggy. **

“If I’m wrong about you and these end up in that monstrosity of a museum, not even Captain America will be able to protect you when I find out,” Rebecca shook her finger at Megan warningly.

“You have my word. And I would deserve whatever punishment you gave me.” She took a deep breath, “I’m not sure I can even find the words to describe how much this is going to mean to Steve. That trip into the ice was so cruel in the way it cut him off from his whole world. One day, he’s at war, the next, almost seventy years have passed and his friends are dead, his belongings scattered, the apartment building he grew up in torn down.... He told me he drove through the neighborhood once and it was so different he barely recognized it. He hasn’t been back to Brooklyn since.”

“Open the other box.”

When she saw the contents, she whispered, “What is this?”

“The day he was accepted into the military, he brought that box to my mother and asked her to keep it until he came home from the war. I can still see him, standing in the doorway, all polite and excited to be going off to war. I haven’t looked inside beyond doing what you just did, but you see the photograph frames. That box is all he had left to his name before he shipped out. When mother passed on, it fell to me to take care of his treasures. When the museum people came calling, I gave them some photographs of James and sent them on their way. Do you see now why I was so skeptical when you called?”

Megan nodded. “Mrs. Miller, I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for him. I promise you I’ll have Steve call or write to you soon. He doesn’t know I’m here, so it’s going to come as a shock to him to get all of this. But I know he is going to want to thank you himself.”

“You really love him, don’t you?”

Megan looked up sharply. “We’re friends. He’s still in love with Peggy. Do I care about him? Yes, absolutely. But we’re not dating and we probably never will. That’s okay.”

**Keep telling yourself that, Megan. We all know you’re head over heels in love with him. We all are.**

“Hmm.” Rebecca pinned her with her gaze. “Don’t let him stay in the past. When you get to be my age, you realize how precious each and every day truly is. He needs to let go of Peggy and live in the present.”

“He’s trying, Mrs. Miller. I think it’s been hard for him to move on because no one wanted to give him time to grieve. To the rest of the world, it’s seventy years of history he needs to learn. To him, he was uprooted and transplanted quite violently and very recently. It’s going to take him some time to adjust. But he is trying.”

****

It was well after dark when Megan pulled into a parking spot near her building and turned off the car. She’d initially planned on making the entire trip by public transit. An unused Amtrak ticket from New York City to Washington, D.C. was still in her purse. The two boxes were too unwieldy for her to juggle on a train and a transfer to the Metro so she’d rented a car, swung back to Rebecca’s home to retrieve the precious cargo, and driven back to her own apartment. Shipping it to her house was simply out of the question.

She made two trips inside, not wanting to risk tripping and spilling the contents of either box. She tossed her bag onto the couch and was heading out the door again when she saw her answering machine light blinking. When she hit play, Steve’s voice filled her apartment.

_Hi, Megan, It’s Steve. I just got called out on a mission and will be gone at least overnight. Don’t plan on seeing me Sunday. I’ll call you when I get back if it’s not too late. I hope you’re having a good weekend._

Even though she knew that irregular work hours were a part of his job, it didn’t lessen her disappointment. With a heavy sigh, she flipped the bird to the hidden microphones and locked the apartment door behind her. Given the late hour, she decided she’d splurge on a cab home after she dropped off the rental.

*****

It was nearly 9 PM when Megan’s phone chimed with a text “ _Just got in. Not much company. Heading home. S._ ”

“ _Swing by for stew and biscuits. It will do you good_ ,” Megan texted back. Thinking a moment, she sent another text. “ _Yes, I mean it. Starting coffee now.”_

She sat glaring the phone. She could almost hear Steve running through his protests and counterarguments of not wanting to inconvenience her, the lateness of the hour, and wanting a change of clothes. She glanced at the two boxes stacked in the corner of her living room and willed him to give in for once and reach out for company.

Her phone chimed again. “ _O.K._ " The shortness of the reply worried her and indicated his mood was rather glum. Hopefully, some hot food and a sympathetic ear would help. She got the leftover stew from the fridge and started a generous portion heating on the stove, prepared a fresh pot of coffee, and got busy making a batch of biscuits. When life got rough, a hot meal was always a good starting point. She put on some old time music that Steve liked and turned it up. Hopefully, the music and lyrics would help muffle their conversation.

She was just taking the biscuits from the oven when Steve knocked at the door.

He came in and leaned his shield against the wall before dumping his helmet on the floor and slipping off his shoes. She didn’t let him take off his jacket before she put her arms around him and pulled him into a hug. “Come eat,” she told him softly. “Food always helps.”

Only when she felt him nod did she release him and head back to the kitchen. “Pull up a chair,” she said and set a plate of biscuits down in front of his place at the table.

“You don’t have to‑”

“Sit down, soldier,” Megan snapped sharply. To her surprise, it worked. He obeyed without thinking and then looked at her a bit sheepishly as he realized what he’d just done. She smiled at him “Want to talk about it?”

Steve shook his head, “You know I can’t.”

“I’m not talking about the mission. I’m referring to what’s bothering you. You’re a smart guy and I’m sure you can talk about your thoughts and feelings without telling me anything classified or mission specific.”

She put the first serving of stew in front of him and filled his cup with coffee before sitting down herself. His brow was furrowed as he thought about what she’s said, but he shook his head.

“Steve, you’ve been to war. Not just any war, but a war that had you on the front lines against the Nazis. I’m sure you’ve had plenty of experience with missions going off the rails, losing part of your team, and generally finding things are FUBAR.”

He considered that and nodded, “Yeah. But it doesn’t get easier.”

“I can’t imagine that it would. But that’s not what’s eating at you right now. There’s something in your eyes I haven’t seen before. You don’t have to talk about it, but I’ll be happy to listen if you need to unload.” She patted his forearm and got up to fix herself a cup of tea.

“I kind of miss the Nazis.”

He’d spoken so softly she almost didn’t hear it, and it took her an additional minute to wrap her head around what he’d said. Then she had to figure out what he meant. She nodded once so he’d know she heard him but stayed at the counter. Only when her teabag was steeping did she join him at the table. She took a biscuit from the plate and started to nibble on it. “Back then, you knew who the enemy was. You knew where the battles were to be fought and there was no question you were on the right side,” she observed quietly, keeping her voice as low as she could.

Steve nodded and kept eating his stew. He polished off the first bowl and refilled it from the pan on the stove, having waved her to stay where she was when she had started to get up to get it for him. “This is good,” he said in a normal voice as he sat back down.”

“I have more in the fridge I can heat up, so eat as much as you want.” Megan studied him. He had a new weight on his shoulders. In a lowered voice, she added. “You’re starting to question S.H.I.E.L.D.’s goals, or at least that the missions you are being sent on really serve the greater good.”

He looked at her with great sadness and nodded once, then ducked his head, ashamed to admit even that much.

“That sounds really frustrating. Just remember that they don’t own you. Any soldier who lives long enough gets to retire from the service. Don’t let all those decades of back pay give them leverage over you. You expected to die in service to your country. The fact you didn’t die when you put that plane down doesn’t mean you owe them something to justify your wages. You have options.”

Steve looked up at that.

Megan shook her head, “Not just the Avengers. Maybe it’s time to think about what you want to do with the rest of your life and not just what you think you should do… or what others tell you to do.”

He looked so lost sitting there. Megan just wanted to pull him to her and soothe him like she would a child. Instead she got out her phone and pulled up a picture before handing it to him. “Do you have any idea who this is?”

Steve carefully studied the image of Megan and an older woman posing for a selfie. He shook his head. “She looks familiar, but I can’t say I know who she is.”

“She remembers you.” Megan handed him the black and white photo of Steve, Bucky, and Rebecca in the wagon. “Does this help?”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Becca?” He looked from the phone to the black and white photograph and back again. “How?”

“I asked a mutual friend for some assistance in a research project I’ve been working on. I kept hitting dead ends, but he came through.” Megan pulled up her contacts list in her phone and flashed Jarvis’s name to Steve. “When you’re done eating, I have some things for you. Quite a few things, actually.”

“She’s still alive? You saw her?” Steve was holding the photograph and trying to reconcile his memory of the child with the reality of an older woman.

“We had a lovely visit. She has your contact information and I obviously have hers. I promised her that you’d be in touch after you had some time to process everything.” Megan put her hand on Steve’s forearm. “She’s a widow now, but she’s had a good life. She’s a grandmother. And she still lives in Brooklyn. You should visit her sometime. It would be good for both of you. She wrote to you, after they found you. I promised her that you never got the mail, and that if you had, you would have written back. I explained to her how much mail Captain America gets and she understood.”

Steve just gaped at her and Megan smiled. “I didn’t speak out of turn; you never would have ignored a letter from her. She was trying to give you space. Are you done eating?”

He nodded mutely and Megan led him to the couch. She waited until he was sitting and then she removed the sheet she had used to cover up the two boxes sitting on the coffee table. “Peggy sent your belongings home from the warfront. There is a letter inside that box you’ll certainly want to start with. The other box is one I expect you already recognize.”

His hand shook as he reached out to touch the box on his right. He found the letter Megan had mentioned and skimmed it quickly, struggling to keep his composure.

Megan put her hand on his shoulder. “If you want to talk or show me something I’m here. If you want to do this alone, that’s okay, too. I’ll keep the coffee coming and leave you to it.”

Steve grabbed her hand before she got very far. “Megan.” His voice was choked with emotion. He stood up and pulled her into a hug. “Thank you,” he whispered into her ear. She could feel his whole body shaking with emotion.

**Finally. I finally got to share the scene I’d written when I first got the idea of a story.**

“That’s what friends are for. I put the other photos Rebecca gave me inside that box, too, so they wouldn't get lost. Now sit down and enjoy the memories. I'm here if you need me.”

Megan watched him surreptitiously as she cleared the table and washed the dishes. He spent quite a bit of time looking through the pages of a composition book before finally setting it aside. Megan decided that the kitchen was the best place for her as it would let her stay busy while being open to interruption. She got out the vegetables from the crisper and started chopping them up for a salad. She was peeling a cucumber when he held up some faded fabric and slowly unfolded it.

“I didn’t know kitchen aprons were fashionable on the front lines.”

“It was my mom’s,” Steve answered, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

He pulled out the picture frames and studied each image carefully. He turned one to her. “My father,” he explained.

Megan wiped her hands on a towel and took the photograph from Steve, comparing the man in the image to the son sitting before her. “You have his eyes. And you have the same determined set to your jaw. Is there a photograph of your mother in there, too?”

Steve traded her frames and she looked down at the wedding portrait of his parents. “You have her forehead and nose. They look very happy and in love. I’m sorry they didn’t get to enjoy growing old together.”

“Me, too.” Steve accepted the photo back from her and gave her an envelope. “Tell me what this is. That’s Bucky’s handwriting on the envelope.”

Megan sat down beside him and turned the envelope over in her hands. It was sealed and bore Steve’s name, but didn’t have a mailing address on it. She looked at Steve questioningly but he nodded, so she opened it. “It’s dated December 2, 1943.”

He took a sharp breath and closed his eyes. “Read it.” He ground out the words, bracing himself for something.

Megan squeezed his knee reassuringly as she smoothed the pages and began to read out loud. “ _Dear Steve, If you’re reading this, I reached the end of the line_.”

Steve choked back a sob and curled forward, wrapping his arms around his legs.

Megan put her arm across his back and rubbed between his shoulders while she continued. “ _Howling Commandos. What a crazy name for our group, but not as crazy as our leader. Who’d have thought that a scrawny kid from Brooklyn who didn’t have the sense to run away from a fight would end up being the hero of the free world? You were always my hero. Take care of yourself, punk. I’ll save you a seat at the bar. First round is on me. Bucky”_

An anguished cry tore itself from Steve’s throat and he put his head down between his knees. Megan laid the letter down and sat sideways on the couch with her back against the arm, and pulled Steve up so he was lying against her with his head on her chest. She kept rubbing his back. “I’ve got you. Just let it out.”

He let her hold him but still choked back the tears and tried to slow his breathing.

“C’mon, Steve. It’s 2013 and real men cry. Let it out.”

She felt his shoulders heave under her hands. “Don’t fight it. Let the pain out, Steve. I’ve got you.”

He slid down so his head was in her lap as he wrapped one arm around her knees. “It’s crushing me.”

“Let it.” She kept one hand on his back and with the other, started running her fingers through his hair. “You need to let it crush you. Let it pound you into rubble and scatter the dust to the wind. It will bring you back. You’ve lost so much. All your friends, your family. If they were here, wouldn’t they tell you to let the pain go?

“It’s all I have left,” he ground out as a fresh wave of muffled sobs wracked his body.

**It must feel like that. Until he got the boxes, what did he have from his past life? Memories, his dog tags, his shield, and a lot of expectations that he’d be the Captain America of the textbooks. His grief is fresh, sure, but it’s also one of the few things that is really his. Add in a lack of role models for grieving in a healthy way, an employer that wants his skills and blind obedience, and a healthy dose of continuing culture shock. I’m amazed that the Steve in the Winter Soldier is functioning as well as he is. Granted, Chris Evans’ acting and the amazing script gave strong hints that it was all a facade, but Steve did get out of bed each morning and go through the motions. How did get manage?**

**The answer to that was my other motivation for this story. Steve was slowly building a support system outside of S.H.I.E.L.D. I wanted to see what that looked like.**

For Megan, the puzzle of Steve finally snapped together in perfect clarity. “That’s not true. This pain, it’s burying everything else they left you. If you don’t let yourself grieve, if you keep trying to hold it all in and soldier through the pain, you’re not honoring them. You’re punishing yourself. Guilt is a normal reaction to loss. We all feel it. But you have to stop holding back. Numbing yourself isn’t working. And as long as you keep the pain this raw, this fresh, you’re dishonoring their memory.”

She could tell he was listening, but she wasn’t reaching him so she tried a new tactic. “You’re being selfish, Steve. The people who cared about you would want more for you than this. You’re not living. You’re barely existing. How does that honor their memory or allow you to share your gifts with the people around you now?

“The only way to honor them is to be a survivor who embraces life and keeps their memory alive. The admission fee to the survivors’ club is letting go of the stoicism and feeling the pain. It’s the only way you can start to remember the good times. It’s always going to hurt, but it doesn’t have to be this raw. You can learn how to carry the pain in a way that doesn’t cripple you.”

“I don’t belong here.”

The despair in his voice broke her heart and she stroked his hair in silence for a few minutes. “Steve, none of us belong here. You think you have a monopoly on being an outsider? Get a clue! Most people feel that way. Did you ever hear of imposter syndrome?”

Steve shook his head, listening as he lay on her lap. The sobs had eased for the moment. She knew he hadn’t really gotten the release he needed, but a lifetime of conditioning wasn’t going to be changed all at once.

Megan kicked at the tissue box on the coffee table with her toes and moved it towards him. “Blow your nose and I’ll tell you about it.”

“Yes, Mom.”

She cuffed him lightly on the shoulder and went back to playing with his hair after he wiped his nose and settled back on her lap. “Imposter syndrome is when you feel liked you don’t really belong in the role you have. You think that if people could just see inside your head, they’d know what a fraud you really are. You think that you’re really fooling people with how smart or as strong or as confident or competent as they think you are. If the only knew the real you, they’d be disappointed. The thing is, most successful people feel like that, at least some of the time. Soldiers coming home from war often have a challenge in adjusting back to civilian life. You probably have both going on.

“You told me you were scrawny and sick as a kid and got beaten up a lot. But then you were Captain America and everyone thought you had all the answers, which you don’t. You’re probably afraid that if you let anyone see how lost you really are, they’ll be disappointed. So you pretend. And you pray that you can keep faking it until you figure out how to be the person they think you are.”

Megan took a deep breath. She knew she was somewhere between babbling and lecturing. On the other hand, he was listening. The longer she talked, the more the tension in his back eased. Oh heck, what did she have to lose at this point if she kept going?

**Even when I wrote this, it seemed too long and wordy. On the other hand, Megan has already said she analyses everything and talks too much. We’re told as writers to show, not tell. So I showed. And showed. And showed some more. _shrugs shoulders_ **

“Steve, it’s a head game you’re playing with yourself. Do you really think I feel like I belong here? I’m working in a high tech lab for a big government agency. I don’t ever walk through the front doors of S.H.I.E.L.D. and think I deserve to be there. I’m just fumbling along as best I can, waiting to screw up. Agent Hill is a woman in a high-ranking position in a field dominated by men. Do you seriously believe she always feels as confident as she seems to be? She’s had to work harder than everyone around her to prove she’s half as good. You’ve heard how the others talk about her. I’d bet my last dollar Director Fury has days when he doubts himself and is trying to figure out how this became his life. So he shows no weakness and snaps at everyone so they can’t get close enough to see the fears that keep him up at night. You’re no different than anyone else. You’re just so afraid to let your guard down and let people in that you cut yourself off from the very people who can understand you best.”

“How can anyone else understand when I don’t?” Steve sounded more like himself now.

“You have to let people in and give us a chance to try. I know that I cannot even begin to imagine the things you’ve seen and done and experienced. I’m sure that in the war you had to make some really awful choices and you lost people you care about. You ditched a plane thinking you’d die doing so. And yes, that means you have a lot of baggage to carry around with you. I don’t have to experience that myself to understand it’s weighting you down.

“You also got the extraordinary gift of a second chance. Don’t waste it. The human condition can’t have changed so much in seven decades that you have no place here. Stop brooding so much and start trying to figure out what you like about your life now. Figure out what you want to do next. Stop trying so hard to be Captain America and let Steve live his life.”

“You sound like Peggy,” Steve said with slight amusement in his voice.

“That’s a real complement given how highly you regard her.” Megan kept stroking his hair no longer sure if it was to calm him or make her feel useful. Maybe it didn’t matter.

“She’s still alive.”

That surprised her and had paused for a moment while she regained her composure. “You took the next step and found out about her life. That must have been really hard to do.”

“She has Alzheimer’s.”

“Does she remember you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never gone to see her.” Steve continued to talk into the fabric of her jeans. She could see the way he clenched his jaw and knew he was still holding back tears.

“Oh, Steve.” Megan sighed. “I know it will be difficult, seeing her old and frail and confused. But I think you should go see her anyway. Depending on how far the disease has progressed, she might remember you. She might even think it’s 1943. You have a chance to look her in the eyes and tell her she’s important to you. Don’t waste it.”

Slowly, Steve sat up and wiped at his face with the back of his hand.

“Go splash some cold water on your face. It helps with the red eyes. The stuffy nose will pass. Crying isn’t fun, but I have just the thing to fix you up. Go on now.” Megan got up and shooed Steve towards the bathroom.

She turned on the oven, poured him a fresh cup of coffee, started the water heating for tea, and got a cookie sheet out. She sprayed it with non-stick spray and set it on the stove before she went to the freezer in hunt of her emergency stash. By the time Steve came out of the bathroom, she had half of the roll of frozen dough cut into slices and laid out on the cookie sheet.

“You keep chocolate chip cookie dough in your freezer?”

“For emergency use only. You never know when life will kick you in the teeth. So I make a batch of dough, form it into small rolls, and freeze the sticks. That makes it easy to make a few at a time when I need them most… assuming I don’t just eat the dough raw. Go ahead, I used pasteurized eggs.” She handed him the knife and went to the cupboard to get down her tea supplies. “Once the oven’s hot, set the timer for eight minutes.”

She slid the coffee table against the wall and removed the couch cushions, stacking them in the corner before she unfolded the bed and retrieved her bed pillows from a nearby chair where they stayed in the daytime.

“I should go.”

“Nope. You’re in no shape to drive. And I’m not comfortable with you being by yourself tonight anyways.” She shook her head at him as she straightened the blankets. She moved a table lamp to the floor and retrieved two more blankets from the trunk she used as an end table before putting the lamp back and switching it off.

“Megan, I’m not staying here.”

She ignored him and went to her dresser. She wasn’t sleeping in her jeans. She got out two pairs of sweatpants and went into the bathroom to change.

He caught her arm when she went to put half made salad in the fridge, but she just shoved the extra sweatpants into his chest. “Go change unless you want to sleep in your slacks.”

“I’m not staying.”

“Eat more dough. You’re talking nonsense.” Megan turned off the burner just as the kettle started to whistle. 

“Megan.”

“How about a movie? _Casablanca_ or _The Princess Bride_. You pick.”

“Neither. We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what, exactly?” She fixed her own cup of tea and sat down at the table, wrapping her hands around the mug and inhaled deeply, letting the steam and the smell of the tea take her back to her grandmother’s kitchen. “My grandma used to make tea for me. It was some instant powder… nasty stuff that I won’t touch now. My mom was taking college classes so I stayed with Grandma two days a week. After lunch, we had tea, vanilla ice cream, and then we watched a soap opera called _Days of Our Lives_. She taught me to play Canasta, Gin Rummy, and a bunch of other card games. I was so lucky to have her house only a few blocks away from my own. I saw her almost every day when I was growing up. She’d stop over for a few minutes when she went on a walk around town. Or I’d ride my bike to her house and we’d have tea and talk for a bit.”

Steve sighed and sat down opposite her, having given in for the moment while he had a cup of coffee. He laid the sweatpants on his lap. “Did you have cookies, too?”

“Oh, yes. Sugar cookies usually.” Megan finally looked up at him. “That’s what my grandfather tried to live on. He lost his sense of smell later when he was in his forties. He lived on a diet of cookies and coffee aside from the meals she cooked. Without being able to smell, he used that as an excuse to indulge. If she was going to be away from the house during lunch, she had to fix something ahead of time for him or else he’d skip the meal entirely and just eat more cookies.”

**Real stories from my own childhood, because I was still writing a short story and I didn’t see a need to invent a complex character from scratch. On the other hand, it’s nice to write those memories down and use them in a new way.**

She looked down at the mug in her hands. “He’s in a nursing home now, in the dementia wing. It’s so hard to reconcile the confused old child he is now with the brilliant person he used to be. He doesn’t remember me any more. He taught me to play chess. Sometimes we talked about books. But by the time I was old enough to really want to get to know him and have adult conversation with him, he was fading away.”

The timer buzzed and she put down her mug. Silently, she took the pan out of the oven and put half a dozen cookies on a plate for Steve before taking three for herself to start.

“These are good.” Steve said appreciatively, talking around his second bite.

“Thanks.”

They ate the rest of the cookies in silence.

Megan didn’t look at him. She focused first on her plate, then on cleaning up the kitchen. She wanted to see how long he’d be able to wait before starting a new round of protests.

Finally, Steve couldn’t take the silence any more. “It’s late.”

“Mmm hmm.” She carefully dried the plates, and put them away, taking her time with each step to drag it out as long as she could. In her peripheral vision, she could see that Steve was practically squirming in his own skin.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Running away isn’t the answer.”

“I’m not running away.”

“So you do lie after all,” she said quietly as she shut the cupboard door, then folded the dishtowel and laid it over the strainer.

“Megan, I’m not lying. It’s late. I appreciate your concern. But I just want to go home and—”

“And keep me up all night worrying that you’re splattered on the highway because you think you’re invincible. You’d rather worry about being seen staying over here than really stop and think about how compromised you are as a driver right now. You’d rather hide behind manners and outdated social standards than admit how vulnerable you’re feeling.” She turned and met his eyes at last. “You’re running away and lying to yourself if you think it’s anything else. You just got stripped bare. Your throat is sore and your nose is all stuffed up. Your eyes feel dryer than sandpaper and you feel so wrung out you don’t want to do anything but curl up and sleep and hide from the whole damn world. I get it. But, morning comes early and with it a whole new workweek. So park your butt on that bed and lie down. I don’t normally sleep in my clothes, but I’m going to tonight so you don’t have even more reasons to feel awkward. What time do you need to be at work in the morning?”

“Eight.”

“I’ll set the alarm for six and that will give you plenty of time to grab a shower and eat breakfast before we head in. Are you sleeping in those clothes or are you going to go for the sweats?”

“I don’t think—”

“No, you don’t. I bought them in the men’s department and yes, they will fit. I’m not one of those petite waifs you see in magazines. There is a new toothbrush on the bathroom sink. Help yourself.” With that, she turned off the stereo, turned on her white noise machine, and settled herself under the covers. She heard him sigh heavily and then shut the door to the bathroom. Smiling to herself, she sat up long enough to wriggle out of her bra and toss it to the floor beside her. He’d probably blush at that, too. She curled up on her side and closed her eyes. It was going to be a short night, but at least with him here, she’d sleep rather than worry.

“Seriously?” Megan snapped when she heard him lie down on the floor. “You are _not_ sleeping on the floor. Get your ass up here, Rodgers, before I strip naked and lie down on top of you until you stop being stupid. I will warn you that I do not bluff.”

Within seconds, the bedframe and mattress shifted with his weight as he stretched out stiffly beside her, as far away from her as he could get.

Megan rolled over and put her arm across his chest and her head against his shoulder. “G’night, Steve.” Within a few minutes, his breathing changed as he fell asleep. His guard finally lowered, he rolled over and pulled her against him.

It felt so good to be held. She’d missed that physical contact desperately after breaking up with Randy and while that hadn’t been her motivation for keeping Steve with her overnight, she wasn’t going to complain about the benefit.

She stopped fighting back her own tears and cried quietly into his shoulder until sleep finally claimed her.

Humans are tactile, social creatures. It’s engrained in our DNA. I happen to think we’d have a healthier society overall if we were permitted to hug and cuddle more. I don’t want to hug strangers, but inside my immediate family, we’re huggers. It’s good for us just like it’s good for Megan and Steve.

****

 

The alarm went off way too early and she dragged herself out from under his arm and staggered over to the end table so she could end the torture to her ears. “Give me five then you can shower first,” she said around a yawn.

She used the bathroom and shuffled into the kitchen. He already had the teakettle heating, the extra blankets folded, and was in the process of storing the sofa bed for day use. Had he found her bra yet? She got two mugs out of the cupboard and watched him out of the corner of her eye. He bent over and picked it up by the strap with a single finger and stood there like he wasn’t sure what to do next. Turning away so he wouldn’t see her watching him and smiling, she focused on getting her oatmeal ready to microwave.

“Megan?”

“Get your shower.” She yawned and rubbed her eyes. “How many slices of French toast do you want?”

“You don’t have to—“

“How. Many. Slices?” She growled as she turned on him. “Gimme a number. I’m _not_ a morning person. You make me use too many uncaffeinated sentences and you will pay.”

“Four. Um, I’ll just get my shower now.”

She gave him a thumbs-up and turned her glare to the teakettle.

By the time he was done showering, she was seated at the table eating her oatmeal and finishing her tea while she read email on her laptop.

“Sausage is in the microwave. First round out French toast should be out of the toaster in a minute.

“I think you have a magic freezer. Cookie dough, French toast, what else have you got in there?

“Apple pie. If you freeze them before you bake them, you can’t tell they were made ahead of time.

He shook his head at that and started eating standing at the counter while the rest of his French Toast heated. “You ready to talk yet?”

She lifted her mug, “Getting there.”

“What made you look for Becca?”

“I know you’re under pressure to move on and live in the present. No one seems to understand that you need time to bridge that gap and connect with your past. I just tried to put myself in your shoes and wonder what I’d wish I still had. I hoped that Rebecca would have some photographs I could give you and maybe you’d feel more connected to your roots. I never dreamed I’d hit the jackpot.”

Megan got up and put her dishes in the dishwasher. Steve put down his plate and pulled her into a hug. “Thank you for everything.”

“You’re welcome. You’d have done the same.”

“If the gossip doesn’t bother you, I’ll give you a ride in with me to work.”

She pulled back and studied him. “Are you sure? I don't care what anyone says. Randy and I were living together. You’re the one who is going to take the brunt of it.”

“Right now, I really don’t care. I know who my friends are,” he said as he looked straight into her eyes.

Okay. Give me ten minutes to shower and change clothes and I’ll be ready. Pack me a lunch and I’ll be ready before that.”

——————

AN- and so we finally get the first of two scenes that prompted this story. (The latter will come later and I’ll note it when we finally get there.) I had an image in my head of Steve getting a box of belongings from his past with the help of a friend and my job was to figure out exactly how that happened. I hope the journey so far has been pleasant. I am also trying to explain how Steve gets to the place we saw in the Winter Soldier where he is open to new friendships and starting to really live in the present. Avengers Steve wouldn’t have reached out to Sam like Winter Soldier Steve did.

Personally, I’m finding it a bit easier to write only from Megan’s point of view, but am still frustrated that I'm not truly conveying Steve’s motivations and thoughts through his actions. It is certainly an interesting writing exercise and when this story is done, I have to decide if I need to write a companion piece from his point of view or not. I really want R&A to stand alone, but Steve has things to say that I’m afraid are not coming through. Such is the life of an amateur writer!

**Until just now, I’d forgotten that was another goal of mine: I wanted to try writing from one character’s point of view to tell the entire story since I’d never done it before. It has gotten easier in some ways, but Steve ultimately insisted on getting to speak for himself. The fun of _Ballast_ was getting to show that Megan was an unreliable narrator! We’re all biased by our own perceptions, and _Roots and Anchors_ is full of Megan’s preconceptions and views, sometimes in ways the rest of you don’t see. _Ballast_ gave me a way to play with that a bit, especially when Megan wanted Kathy to ride Steve’s bike and believed she had pulled off the manipulation. We see in _Ballast_ that Steve listened to his own conscience and helped only after Kathy was on board. Not all secrets are bad. **

**Writing from one character’s point of view seemed like a good way to keep the story short since I didn’t have to deal with showing what else was going on; I could keep my focus on Megan. It’s freeing in that regard. On the other hand, it’s frustrating to know what other characters are up to off stage and have no way to show it unless Megan is there or hears about it later. I think in the sequel, I’m going to play with rotating points of view so we get slices from each person, but in a linear fashion that keeps the plot moving forward. It’s going to be a daunting task. At least I expect it to be lengthy at the outset!**


	4. C11-14 Commentary: What Just Happened thru Unreasonable Demands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More ramblings about what I was trying to do.

****

Megan got a couple of looks but no comments after riding into work with Steve. When she was in the restroom later that morning, she rolled her eyes when she overheard two women talking about how she’d worn Captain America’s shield on her back. They didn’t know she was in the stall and she waited until they were gone before emerging to wash her hands.

The lack of comments changed when she returned from lunch to find a vase of yellow roses, ivy, and baby’s breath sitting on her desk.

 

**Steve was raised with Manners. Now that he has the financial means to go along with his good intentions, I can’t imagine him _not_ sending flowers to Megan as a thank you. **

“Betcha I know who those are from,” Megan’s coworker said as she passed by Megan’s desk on her way back to the lab. “They’re gorgeous, just like the captain who sent them,” Emma added.

“Thank you. I agree they are lovely.” Megan fingered the petals before bending to inhale their subtle fragrance.

“Did you open the card?”

“Not yet.” Megan looked around only half-feigning confusion at the lack of an audience. “I’m surprised there’s no crowd to see who wins the betting pool.”

Emma laughed. “Give them a few minutes and I’m sure they’ll be here. But the bets are all about when you’re seen kissing, not when you’ll get flowers.”

Megan blushed. “It’s not like that. We’re really just friends.”

“Uh huh. He gave you _roses_ , Megan.” Emma put her hand on her hip and studied her carefully. “And he sent them to you at work. This is _serious_.”

Megan’s raised her eyebrow. “Don't you know the language of flowers? Yellow roses are for friendship. I’m quite sure Steve knows that, too. As for sending them to work, if he had them were delivered to my apartment, they’d be left out in the hallway where anyone could take them.” She opened the card and read the note.  “ _Thanks for being there. Steve_.” She showed it to Emma. “See?”

“You two eat lunch together just about every day. Now you’re wearing his shield and getting flowers at work. I’m telling you, this is more than friendship.”

**Yes, Steve knows a lot about flowers and their messages. He’s also not afraid to draw attention to good people. This is his way of putting a good spotlight on Megan.  Seriously, who hates getting flowers at work? You get to see them all day long PLUS you get to be a wee bit smug as the arrangement points out to everyone around that someone appreciates you. It might be a thank-you from a co-worker or a surprise from a loved one. But getting flowers at work is _awesome_. And men can get flowers at work, too. I’ve sent them to my hubby on occasion. **

“Just don't put money on kissing happening any time soon, okay? I’d hate to see you lose money on my account.” Megan said as she slipped into her lab coat. “As far as wearing his shield, if anyone has a better idea of how to transport the thing while riding on the back of a motorcycle, I’m all ears.”

“Megan, the fact that you were on his bike at all is what you seem to be missing here.”

Megan rolled her eyes again and picked up her safety glasses. “It’s your money.”

****

Before she left to go home, she took a photograph of the arrangement and sent it to Steve with a texted thanks. She figured he’d want to see for himself that the florist had put his money to good use.

Her phone pinged a few minutes later with a reply. _“New field assignment. Can you pick our next books from those by Roger Highfield and Svante Pääbo? I’ve been told they’re good writers.”_

So much for a quiet evening at home. She sighed, frustrated that their mysterious friend didn’t just come out and say what he or she wanted. If they had to be mysterious, the least they could go would be give her a lift home so she wasn’t juggling flowers, a helmet, and her lunch bag on the metro during rush hour.

She ate a quick dinner, wrote the authors’ names down on a slip of paper, and deleted the text from her phone. After using a library computer to look up the titles their mysterious “friend” wanted them to read, she got some cash from the nearest ATM and headed to a big box bookstore she had never visited before. She preferred to patronize the small, independently owned bookstore she’d found tucked away two metro stops from her apartment, but she didn’t want to have her purchases tracked by whoever was watching her.

****

Megan woke to the feeling of cobwebs in her brain. The bed was uncomfortable but lacked the bar across her back that normally annoyed her on waking. The room was bright and her eyelids were too heavy to try opening. Her mouth was dry and the sounds were just _wrong_. The scent of antiseptic annoyed her. Something beeped and she drifted back to sleep.

**This was one of those times when the words appeared on the computer screen and I sat there going, huh? What happened to _my_ story? Where did _that_ come from? Only one way to find out: keep writing and see what happens. So I did. **

The next time she woke, the room she was in was darker. She flexed her fingers and found her hand trapped. Fear shot through her and she tried to pull away.

“You’re safe, Megan. It’s Steve. You’re safe.”

She opened her eyes and saw him leaning over her, a worried look furrowing his brow. He squeezed her fingers and she realized that he was holding her hand. She relaxed slightly and looked around, recognizing at last that she was in a hospital. But why?

“Do you remember what happened? The police want to talk to you when you’re up to it.”

She blinked, trying to think. She remembered walking home from the bus stop after catching a bus from the metro station. A deep voice. A threat. The flash of a knife. Panic surged through her and she tried to shake her head, only to be stopped by pain.

“Shhh. It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. Squeeze my hand once for yes and twice for no. Do you want some water before I let the nurses know you’re awake?”

She squeezed his hand once but didn’t let go.

“Scared?”

Another squeeze.

“Okay. I’ll stay right here,” he reassured her before reaching across her bed to summon the nurse with the call button embedded in the railing. “We’ll find who did this to you.”

She squeezed his hand hard twice and tried to fight back the panic. She remembered the warning.

“I see… okay.” With his free hand, he brushed her bangs back from her forehead. “I talked to your mom on the phone. Do you want her to drive down here? She offered, but once you were stable, I thought you might want her to stay put.” Steve smiled at her, reading her reactions far too well and apparently piecing together what she couldn’t even process yet. “All right. I’ll keep her updated and try to convince her that she isn’t needed here just yet.”

The nurse came into the room with a bright smile. “My name is Kevin and I’m taking care of you this shift. I’m glad to see you are awake, Dr. Buchwald. Do you know where you are?”

**This was my special shout out to male nurses. Men can be nurses and women can be doctors! Who’d have thunk it?**

Megan looked pleadingly at Steve.

“She’s aware but has a very dry mouth at the moment,” he answered for her.

“That’s understandable. It’s a common side effect from surgery. Are you at all nauseated?”

“No,” Steve answered for her after a brief pause.

“You have the hand signals all worked out, do you?” Kevin asked her, smiling first at Steve then back at Megan. 

She gave him a thumbs-up then waited patiently while Kevin took her pulse.

He smiled at her again, “I know we’ve got you hooked up to the monitors. I still prefer the hands on approach for the basics. It gives me a better feel for how you’re doing. Your fingers are still a bit cold and your hands are clammy. Do you remember what happened?”

Megan threw a panicked look at Steve.

“She remembers enough to be rattled by it. I’d avoid pressing too much about that for right now.”

Kevin nodded his understanding. “You’re heart’s beating like a rabbit. You’re safe now and you’re going to be just fine. Whoever jumped you is long gone. We’ll start you on some ice chips and see how you do with those, okay?”

Megan gave another thumbs-up.

“How’s the pain level?”

She twisted her hand back and forth, indicating it was so-so.

Kevin checked his watch. “You’re due for more meds in a few minutes. We want to stay ahead of the pain. It’s easier to prevent pain that bring it under control, so if it starts to ramp up on you, I want you to let me know. I’ll be right back with your ice.”

She smiled weakly at him and closed her eyes, exhausted by the small effort of communicating. The adrenaline had cleared her thinking enough to remember the warning that had been whispered in her ear, “This is a test, Doctor. If you tell the police or the Captain about this, your oldest nephew is going to have a horrible accident. We’ll be in touch soon.”

She squeezed her eyes tightly, fighting the tears. Her family was in danger and she had no way to warn them. Even worse, she had to decide whether or not to trust Steve with all of their lives. Or worse, to trust her attackers to keep their word, at least until they had what they wanted from her.

Sensing her distress, Steve rubbed circles on the back of her hand and quietly hushed her. “Just hang on, Megan. We’ll talk once your mouth isn’t so dry. No one will hurt you while I'm here. I promise you that.”

“Here you are,” Kevin said as he pulled the tray over her bed and put a cup of ice chips on it. Looking to Steve, he said, “Start her slowly. We’ll try some sips of water in a little bit. It’s better to go slow than to end up straining muscles because she’s puking.”

“I know the drill,” Steve answered quietly. “Been on the other end of this a few times myself.”

“I’ll bet you have. Call if you need anything. I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.” Kevin double checked her IV lines and straightened her blanket before leaving them alone.

Steve squeezed her hand gently. “Do you want to try sitting up?” When Megan consented, he pushed the buttons on her bed to raise the head so she was more upright. “These beds never go up far enough to really let you sit. You’ll feel better once you get the cotton out of your mouth. Here,” he said, tipping the cup so she could get a large chip of ice into her mouth. It was awkward for him since her left hand was holding his left hand in a death grip, but he managed it. “Better?”

She nodded very slightly as the ice melted in her mouth. The moisture felt wonderful. “What day is it?” she asked with a voice that was hoarse and shaky.

“Tuesday afternoon. The call to 911 was around 8:23 last evening. There are really easier ways to get out of going to work you know.”

“Steve…” Megan took a deep breath, knowing the future of many lives hinged on her choice. “We’re in big trouble.”

“We’ll deal with it. More ice?”

“Yeah.” She tried to help with the cup, but her hand shook too badly. It wasn’t due to the sight of the needle for the IV in her hand, either. “So cold.”

“Let go of my hand for a second and I can help. I’ll get you another blanket if you let me go to the door. Can you do that?”

Letting go of him was hard but easy at the same time. She wanted him there, but she trusted that he’d come right back.

After speaking to someone in the corridor, he returned to her side and lowered the rail on the left side of her bed. “During the war, it was often hard to keep warm at night in the driving snow. More than one soldier pointed out that I was a bit of a furnace when we huddled together.” With that, he slid his arms beneath her leg and back and moved her to the far side of the bed as if she weighted no more than a cat. Then he sat down beside her and pulled her against him, wrapping his right arm around her so she could rest on his chest. He tucked the thin hospital blanket over her as best he could.

“Good idea,” Kevin said as he came into the room and shook the folds out of the extra blanket he carried and put it over both of them, covering Megan up to her chin. “I’d advise against posting a selfie to Facebook right now or else you’ll have all the patients on the floor lining up to take your place,” he teased Megan gently. “You lost a lot of blood and your system had a shock. That’s why you’re feeling so cold even though we topped off your tank.”

Megan nodded carefully, mindful of the pain in her neck. “Could I have some hot tea instead of the ice? Or water if I can’t have tea.”

“We can try tea. How do you take it?”

“Milk and sugar,” Steve answered for her. “Milk might not be a good idea just yet, Megan.”

“I’ll drink herbal with just sugar if you have any,” Megan said softly as she sagged against Steve and let his shared body heat chase some of the chill away.

“Now you’re talking. Let me see what I can find and I’ll be right back.”

When they were along again, Steve stroked her hair and talked in a low voice. “They threatened you, didn't they?”

“How bad is the wound?” she said softly as she dodged his question. What if she was wrong about her choice? Images of her nephew sitting in her lap smiling up at her flashed before her eyes and she shuddered.

“You’ll be fine. They cut a vein on the left side of you neck to make you bleed out quickly but without causing you lasting damage. They knew exactly what they were doing. I know it hurts, but that’s because of all the nerve endings. It’s not as deep as it could have been. I’m going to ask you again. Did they threaten you?

**To anyone in an alphabet agency tracking my internet searches: it’s for fanfic! I have no intention of actually using a knife on a person. But, yes, I did a lot of homework to make sure (as best I could) that Megan’s wound was realistic if inflicted by a professional. No actual people were sliced open in the process of writing of this story. Half the time, I sort of squint at the screen before opening a link to make sure I’m not getting more graphic images than I actually need. Anatomy diagrams for medical school students are awesome, but I am always leery of a prankster mucking with a link and altering where it goes. I’ve seen that happen before (to a coworker, not me) and there was apparently not enough brain bleach in the world to erase the image on the altered link.**

She shuddered and nodded slightly. “If I tell anyone, including you, they said they’d kill my nephew. I can’t tell the police, Steve,” she murmured back to him.

“I know,” he hugged her tighter. “Lie with the truth. Say as little as possible and don’t make anything up. They’ll push you to share more and go over it again and again. Stay firm, okay? You can do this.” He paused and grew more serious. “Do you trust me?”

“With my life.”

“I mean with the lives of your family.”

“Do what you think is best,” Megan closed her eyes and let him hold her. It felt safe to have his arms around her.

“I’ll do everything I can to keep them safe, Megan. I promise.” He stroked her hair, “Try to sleep. I’ll be right here.”

Snugged against him with the tattoo of his heartbeat in her ear, Megan dozed off before Kevin returned with her tea.

****

“Ms. Buchwald? I’m Officer Smythe. I’d like to talk to you about the attack two days ago if you’re up to it.” The young man didn’t look a day over twelve to Megan, though she knew he was an adult. He had dark brown hair, freckled cheeks and boyish looks that his military haircut couldn't compensate for.

“Doctor,” Steve corrected him.

“Pardon me?” the officer said looking between Megan and Steve.

Megan just kept eating her chicken sandwich and feigned indifference. It wasn’t easy given the way her stomach was currently churning. She wasn’t ready for this. She might never be. On the other hand, she wanted to get it over with as soon as possible and was thankful she’d had some time to rest and regain her strength. She took another bite, grateful to Steve for his correcting her title. She knew he was sensitive about women begin treated with respect and he’d been duly impressed to learn she had earned her doctorate. She owed him so much. He had spent the entire time since her attack at her bedside, sleeping in short naps in a chair that appeared to excel at hospital uncomfortable. She’d been too scared to suggest he go home and leave her alone and he’d assured her he wasn’t leaving even if she told him to.

“Doctor Buchwald, not Miss,” Steve clarified. His voice pulled her out of her musings.

“I apologize, Doctor,” the officer said, looking down at his notepad. “Nothing in my notes indicated you were a physician.”

“She’s not. She earned her Ph.D. That still means you should address her as doctor,” Steve explained patiently.

**He was raised by a single mom, used to being looked down on for his slight size and health problems, and experienced at defending Gabe and Morita’s presence on his team. Can’t you just see Steve making this his hobby horse to ride into the sunset? He’s impressed by Megan’s educational accomplishments and won’t stand for her being dismissed as “mere” single woman. He’s probably not all caught up on the use of Ms. versus Miss, so heard the officer as saying Miss. Peggy is mentally cheering him on.**

“It’s okay, Steve,” Megan said quietly. “Please, sit down, Officer.” She gestured to Steve. “This is Captain Rogers.”

**Right back atcha, Captain. You protect my title, I’ll protect yours!**

“Thank you, Doctor, Captain,” the young man said, putting a little extra emphasis on her title, at least to Megan’s ears, before he nodded acknowledgement to Steve. “What can you tell me about the men who attacked you?”

“You already determined I was attacked by at least two men?” Megan asked dryly, her eyebrows shooting up.

“No, ma’am.”

“Is this your first debriefing, son, or is the fact I’m here making you nervous?” Steve asked in his Captain America voice.

Officer Smythe cleared his throat and fidgeted in his seat a bit.

“Everyone has a first time and he’s only dangerous to the bad guys,” Megan said as she pushed the remains of her lunch away. It made a tiny bit of relief to have someone with less experience take her statement.

**Okay, I confess do doing no research about actual police questioning here. But I assume that bias slips in as easily in police work as it does in scientific research. And the police _are_ severely overworked in many communties. This doesn’t excuse the numerous problems with law enforcement. But when we ask one group of people to be councilors, sociologists, social workers, emergency medics/first responders, traffic directors, detectives, mediators, etc. _and_ act as the safety net for a broken mental health system among other things (especially in communities where poverty is the norm and options for a better life are severely limited), you’re going to have some problems with adequate staffing. So I figured, Smythe didn’t get enough training, he’s been sent on a easy-peasy assignment all by himself, therefore, I can do what I want in this scene!**

“This is my first solo questioning. We’ve been short staffed lately and‑‑”

“It’s all right. This is my first time being attacked.” Megan smiled at him. “But, I can tell you this much: you’ll skew your investigation if you make assumptions.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He took a deep breath. “Who attacked you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you describe him?”

“You’re assuming again, Officer,” Steve broke in. He picked up the small sketchpad and pencil lying on the table by Megan’s bed and opened it to a fresh page. “Watch and learn. Don’t forget to take your own notes, though.” All business, Steve turned to Megan. “Walk me through what you remember from the beginning. When you’re done, I’ll ask you some questions. Some of it may seem repetitive or tedious, but the process can help you recall details you didn’t think to mention the first time through.”

**Steve is not stupid. He grew up in Brooklyn during a rough time. I’m sure he has a lot of street-smart skills he might have used to survive. Bucky would have taught him. He knows how to make the top brass in the military think he’s toeing the line even though he and he Howlies do things their own way. I imagine it’s quite natural for him to step in here and use those skills from his past life to make the officer thing he’s getting a lot of help. Poor Office Smythe.**

“Okay.” She took a deep breath and kept her focus on Steve. “I was coming home from the bookstore. I got off the bus at the stop closest to my building and walked home. I remember seeing a knife blade in front of me as someone wrapped their arms around me from behind. He said…” She stopped and took a sip of water, trying to not let her hands shake too much. “He said ‘This is a test.’ I felt pain. Then I woke up in the hospital.”

“Had you made any purchases the bookstore?” Steve asked without looking up. He was taking notes and in full Captain America mode.

Megan nodded. “Yes, I bought three books.”

“What sort of bag were they in and did you have a purse with you?”

“Yes. My purse was on my left shoulder. I always have a purse with a shoulder strap. I had the plastic bag from the store in my right hand.”

“Think back to when you were walking. Did the bag make any noises while you walked? Or were you holding it in a way that kept it from crinkling?”

“It crinkled. It was one of those that’s extra noisy and I remember there was a breeze. The bag had a handle cut into it and I was using the handle.”

“What other sounds can you remember hearing starting from the time you stepped off the bus?”

Megan closed her eyes. “The bus pulled away, so I must have heard that. I remember it was getting a little late in the evening so there wasn’t a lot of traffic. I don’t remember seeing anyone else or hearing anything unusual. The streets were wet from the rain, so the traffic had that wet sound too it.”

“Did you hear footsteps?”

“No, I was wearing my sneakers. I didn’t hear anyone approach me from behind.”

“Very good. You said there was a knife. Did you see it before or after you were grabbed? Think about every detail, which hand they used, where you were standing on the sidewalk… walk though it slowly.”

“I was walking at the edge of the sidewalk closest to the street. There were not any cars parked there. I can’t remember if I felt their arms around me or saw the knife first, it happened so fast. He wrapped his left arm around me from behind and had the knife in his right hand. I just saw the flash of the streetlight on the metal before I felt the blade pressed against the left side of my neck.”

“Where were your hands when he grabbed you? Did you reach for him or fight back in any way?”

“My left hand was on my purse, my right was holding the bag by the handle. I didn’t raise my arms at all when he grabbed me. I was afraid if I resisted he’d slit my throat. I just froze and stood still.”

“Did you see his hands? What color was his skin?”

“He had black gloves on. Black leather gloves, I think. They were not yarn, I know that much. And he had a long sleeved coat. I never saw his skin. The coat was woven fabric, sort of like twill or canvas. It was light brown, almost caramel colored. I only saw his right hand and arm. His left arm was under mine, but his right arm was over top, near my shoulder and across my chest.

“Tell me about the knife.”

“It was sharp and had a silver colored blade. I can’t say how long it was… it seemed huge but I don’t trust my memory.”

“Think about the knives you have in your kitchen at home and compare the blade you saw to your kitchen knives. Was it most like a bread knife, paring knife, or chopping knife?

“Um… longer than a paring knife, but skinny in the same way, maybe even a bit thicker? It wasn’t as wide as a chopping knife and it wasn’t nearly as long as my bread knife. I can’t remember the shape of the tip.”

“Did you see the handle? Can you describe it?”

“No, I don’t remember seeing the handle. Maybe it fit in his hand?” Megan held her own hand out in front of her, unconsciously mimicking how he’d been holding the knife. “No, I can’t remember.”

“It’s okay. You’re doing a good job,” Steve reassured her. “What did you smell?”

“Smell?” Megan opened her eyes and looked at him questioningly. “Smell.” She shrugged her right shoulder a bit, puzzled by the request. “The streets were wet, so it smelled wet. I don’t think he had cologne or anything like that. I hate cologne.” She shook her head slightly. Her neck was sore and every time she moved, it pulled the stitches. “Nothing stands out.

“It’s okay. You say you hate cologne. Do you think you’d have noticed it if he were wearing any?”

“I think so. I’m pretty sensitive that way.”

”You keep saying ‘he,’ so you believe your attacker was male. Why? And was he alone?” Steve prodded gently.

“I didn’t hear or see anyone else. I thought I had the street to myself before he grabbed me, so I am assuming he was alone. His hands were large and his body felt solid behind me, like a man. His voice was deep, but not unusually so. He sort of growled like he was disguising his voice, but I’m sure it wasn’t a woman’s voice.”

Steve nodded and wrote more notes “When did he speak and what did he say?”

Megan picked at the hem of the blanket, avoiding eye contact. “The knife was at my throat when he said into my left ear, ‘This is a test.’”

“What happened then?” Officer Smythe asked, almost eagerly, as if he were caught up in the drama of her story.

“He cut me. I woke up here.”

“You don’t remember _anything_ else? Did he let you fall or did he lower you to the ground?” Smythe continued, continuing his line of questioning.

Megan forced herself to not look at Steve. She couldn’t even hint that she was relying on him to guide her through this. She remembered the feeling of the blade parting flesh followed by pain and the feeling of warm blood running down her neck. Her legs buckled beneath her as she slowly crumpled to the ground and came to rest on her right side. Her attacker had kept her from falling backwards, but hadn’t so much eased her down as directed her fall. Why had she crumpled so quickly? She didn't remember him knocking her legs out from under her. Thoughts of her family filled her mind. Would someone find her in time? What would happen to Steve? “I remember pain. I can’t tell you anything else,” she answered truthfully.”

“Can you tell us who might have attacked you or why?” Steve asked quietly, verbalizing the question they both knew she dared not answer.

Megan shook her head. “I’m bottom of the totem pole at work and don’t do anything really interesting there anyways. I’m pretty new in town, so I can’t imagine I’ve angered anyone. My ex-fiancé and I parted on good terms and he’s never threatened me. It must have been a routine mugging or someone high on drugs.”

“Ex-fiancé?” Officer Smith perked up. “What’s his name?”

“Randall Baczkowski” Megan said, feeling guilty at having even mentioned him. She spelled Randy’s last name twice.

“When did you break up?”

“About five months ago.”

“When did you last hear from Mr. Baczkowski?”

“Doctor Baczkowski. We were in graduate school together. I haven’t seen him since commencement and he just nodded at me after the ceremony. Quashing her guilt, she added. “He was always a bit clingy. But I really don’t think he’s the jealous or vindictive type, at least not enough to hurt me….” Megan fisted her hand under the blanket, praying for forgiveness for even planting seeds of doubt in the officer’s mind. Randy deserved better. Since he hadn’t attacked her, any inquiry into Randy’s current behavior might be enough to muddle the investigation, at least until her file was buried and forgotten. A random knife attack wasn’t worth the resources needed for higher priority investigations, especially when the police department was under staffed and overworked. “Are we done?” she asked. Her yawn wasn’t entirely faked.

**I invented Randy on the spot for Megan to throw under the proverbial bus. At this point, I had no idea Randy was less than a gentleman. I figured Megan had her reasons, gave his name to throw the police off the scent of her attackers, and that was the end of it. I figured he’d never even get mentioned again.**

**For now, I’m going to leave the rest of Randy’s story unwritten as far as all of you are concerned. I have Things Planned in the sequel that may or may not involve him, and I don’t want to tip my hand. Maybe he’s innocent of anything beyond domestic violence. Maybe he’s more involved in the Plot than we realize. Time will tell. As I write this note, I’m not 100% sure what else lurks in his past, though I have some ideas. I’ll just see where it goes, and maybe revise this later to update it when I know for certain.**

“I think so. I appreciate the help, Captain.” Officer Smythe stood up and handed her his card. “Please call me if you can think of anything else that might be useful.”

Megan smiled at him. “I will, thank you,” she said, shaking his hand as she leaned back in her bed and handed the business card to Steve for safekeeping. She watched the officer leave and turned to Steve. “Randy deserves better than that.”

He nodded his agreement. “But he’s a dead end,” Steve said, his voice still low but no longer so formal in tone. “It distracted him from thinking about how nothing was taken from your purse. Your books are at my apartment. I figured I’d get started reading them rather than leave them here to get lost in the hospital. A mugging without even an attempt at theft makes no sense, but Smythe hasn’t thought about that yet. With any luck, he won’t. If he does, you can continue to be puzzled.”

Steve closed his notepad and set it aside. “We’ll go over all of this again tomorrow. You didn’t talk about how tall he was or a lot of other details I know you can remember if I ask the right questions.”

Megan nodded carefully.

“So what else did your attacker say?” Steve asked. “I’ve checked the room for bugs, so you can talk freely as long as you keep your voice down. I also made sure Officer Smythe was clean.”

**Have I ever mentioned how awesome and helpful it is to have Tony Stark in the background? Need tech that identifies bugs? Call Tony. Need expensive stuff for any reason related to the plot? Call Tony. Need to throw money at a problem and call it done in the story? Call Tony. We _all_ do it. Even the Marvel Universe scriptwriters do it. Tony loves the attention, I’m sure. But let me tell you, it’s a lot harder for authors to write their way out of these corners in universes where you don’t have Tony to fund and invent solutions on demand! **

“He said, ‘This is a test, Doctor. If you tell the police or the Captain about this, your oldest nephew is going to have a horrible accident. We’ll be in touch soon.’” Megan quoted and gripped his offered hand. “They have to know the police would require a statement. I tried to do what you said and tell the truth.” She looked down, somehow feeling ashamed that she’d done something wrong.

“It’s a lot easier to keep track of things when you don’t ever lie. You gave him a ton of details that won’t help identify your attacker but shows you’re trying to be helpful in the investigation.” He lifted her chin with his free hand and made her look at him. “You realize that this means we have to leave you vulnerable to them approaching you again. Can you do that while I get some reinforcements I trust to protect your family and start tracking leads?”

She tried valiantly to keep the waver out of her voice. “I have to, so I will.” She took a deep breath. “I know you’ve experienced far worse than this. How do you let yourself go to sleep when you know you can be attacked or killed at any moment? What’s the secret?”

“I don’t know of any secret. Eventually, you just get so tired you can’t stay awake. The nightmares are the worst. At least I’m able to defend myself. Do you have _any_ self-defense training?”

“No.”

“That’s changing as soon as you’re out of here and healed up. It won’t protect you from the professionals, but you can learn to defend yourself from your average thug. We can use the S.H.I.E.L.D. gym.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I hate exercise and I am likely to take out all of my bad attitude on you. I can just sign up for a martial arts class. I promise I’ll go.”

Steve shook his head. “No, I’m training you. You need to learn dirty street fighting before anything else. Martial arts classes can be added once you’re fit and interested in perfecting your skills. For now, you need to learn how to take a hit and use whatever weapons are at your disposal. Natasha can give me some suggestions, too. She’s the best fighter at hand-to-hand combat I’ve ever met.”

“You’re going to learn how unlikeable I really am.”

He laughed. “I highly doubt that. I’m not afraid of your temper, Megan, not when you’ve already warned me that I’m not the real target. Maybe you’ll teach me some words I didn’t learn in the army. In the meantime, are you ready to go home?”

“Now?”

“When the doctor came around this morning they started the discharge process. You were still asleep. Since you signed all the permission forms for me to be included in discussion of your care, we’re just waiting for the final paperwork. They should be done soon if they aren’t already.”

“I never signed…” her voice trailed off in her confusion. “Did I?”

“We work for a spy agency, Megan. Do you really think it was that hard for me to get your signature on the right forms?” He stood up to go check with the nurse, but paused to answer the question she wasn’t asking. “I know you’re alone in town. I talked to your mom about it and she was glad you were not going to be here by yourself. Given what’s going on at work, I wanted to make sure the hospital staff didn’t try to throw me out. If I overstepped, I’m apologize. I was trying to make sure you stayed safe.”

“Thank you for doing what I would have wanted anyway,” she whispered, a bit stunned to learn he’d forged paperwork on her behalf. He nodded in relief and she watched him walk out of the room in search of a nurse. The squeaky clean image of Captain America was even less accurate than she’d realized. She’d never assumed he was perfect, but he was so genuinely good it was difficult to reconcile that with him breaking laws. She couldn’t imagine him doing so for personal gain. Still, his act of forgery revealed a new layer to his character she hadn’t appreciated before.

**Get a clue, Megan. He hot wired cars in Nazi Germany and learned pick-pocketing from Bucky. Petty theft and forgery are basic skills for a kid like Steve was. Bat those baby blues, cough a bit, who would believe he did anything? I’m sure he hated doing it, but he’s a practical guy. Given the choice of starving to death or palming some coins, I think he’d take the coins from the pocket of a well-dressed bully.  This is Steve, remember. He’ll pick his targets carefully, ensuring no other kids go hungry on his behalf. He’s an ethical criminal!**

**This was when I realized there was No Hope of this being a short story. I still had delusions of it being a short novel. Yes, I was wrong . Very wrong. If I were more disciplined, I could go back and trim things out. But the character development / slice of life stuff is something I really enjoy writing and reading. Since I don’t have a publisher holding me to a word count, I follow the muse. Anyone who dislikes this can demand a refund of their purchase price.**

 

“Are you hungry yet?” Steve asked as he helped Megan out of his car.

“No, just really tired.” She leaned on him a little bit and didn't mind when he took her purse and plastic bag of belongings from the hospital to carry inside for her. She’d already given him her keys. “You need to take my keys and get a copy made.”

“Once you’re settled,” he said as he put his arm behind her as a precaution as she slowly climbed the steps to her apartment.

She wrinkled her nose in disgust as she held tightly to the railing and looked at the steps looming above her. Right now, living on the third floor had completely lost all appeal. “I want a shower more than anything.”

“Wait until I’m back from the store, okay?”

“Why are you going to the store?” she paused on the landing to catch her breath. Steve waited by her side patiently and she loved him for it. She knew he could carry her to her door without any effort but he was letting her do it herself without any indication that her slow pace annoyed him.

“I saw your fridge Monday morning, remember? You’re low on milk and eggs. You’re out of bananas which I saw you put on your oatmeal, and we used your last two apples in the lunches I packed. You only had two slices of bread left. Unless you went grocery shopping in a separate trip before you headed out for books, you need groceries.”

She looked sideways at him, “You’re scary, you know that?”

“The Nazis thought so, too,” he answered, then smiled a little. “I’ll get something to make for dinner. Is there anything else you want me to pick up?”

“Unfrosted blueberry Pop-Tarts. They can be my reward for climbing all these blasted stairs. Don’t worry if you can’t find them. A lot of stores don’t stock that flavor and the frosted version is just gross.”

**These are the only Pop Tarts I like. Yes, they are difficult to find.**

A lifetime later, they made it into her apartment and Megan collapsed onto her couch.

Steve put her keys in his pocket and went to set her purse down on the coffee table, but paused when he saw it was still shoved up against the wall. “Why is there a sheet over your coffee table?” he asked as he laid her belongings on the dining room table instead.

“It’s your stuff, not mine. And while I have enough self-control to not go pawing through all those boxes, I admit to being curious as to what’s in them. Covering it all up removes the temptation.”

Steve looked at her with an expression she couldn’t quite identify. “My stuff is all over your coffee table. It would have been fine to move—”

“Steve, you have as close to zero privacy as anyone I’ve ever met and I know that bothers you. You’re a private person. The least I can do cover up your crap instead of gawking at every trinket in the name of tidying up. You have your car with you, so you can give me back my coffee table when you go home.” She lay down on the couch and closed her eyes as she tried to lighten the mood. “Be a good minion and fix me some tea,” she said, waving him towards the kitchen.

**I’d be just like Megan, wanting to sit and peer into the boxes without touching anything. Because then, it won’t be snooping, right? So yeah, I’d know that about myself and throw something over it so I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t snooping when I knew I was doing exactly that.**

****

A knock at the door woke her and she roused. Disorientation quickly switched to fear as she remembered that she was home alone. Someone was messing with the lock and trying to turn the doorknob. She frantically looked around for anything she could use as a weapon.

“Megan? It’s Steve,” she heard him say before the door opened and she back into the cushions in relief. Trust Captain America to know she’d feel vulnerable upon hearing someone at her door.

She yawned and stretched as he came inside, carrying what seemed to be twenty bags of groceries. It must be nice to be able to lug all of those heavy bags up two flights of stairs in a single trip. “My mom called when you were gone. She wants us to go up for a weekend. And before you get wary, she’s interested in thanking you for helping me out. She suggested Memorial Day weekend but I reminded her you were probably already committed to some public appearances for the military. I’ll stall as long as I can, but now that she has your number, she’ll be gently pestering you until you cave or she comes down here.”

Steve just smiled at her before starting to put away the groceries. “I don’t mind. I already promised her I’d bring you up for a visit once you were better.”

“Wait, what? When did you and my mom become best buds?”

“I’ve talked to her quite a bit over the last few days. You were sleeping a lot and she appreciated the updates. She loves you and wants to keep you safe, but she’s also really proud of you for forging your own path and moving down here like you did. How does chicken broccoli alfredo sound?”

“Delicious.” Megan shook her head, feeling a bit dumbfounded. “Welcome to _The Twilight Zone_. I think I hit my head because this _cannot_ be my real life.”

Steve was already putting pans on the stove and heating water for the pasta. “Now you know how I feel.”

“Nope, this is weirder. I didn’t volunteer for any experiments. Yet here I am, sitting in my apartment watching one of the Avengers make me dinner and talking about taking me home to see the folks.”

“Try ditching a plane in the Atlantic, waking up seventy years later, and learning you didn’t die after all.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that one. But, you’re distracting me from the main question about how you ended up at the hospital in the first place.”

Steve smiled at her while he worked. “That’s the most normal part of the whole thing. The medics called me once they had you stabilized en route to the hospital. The most frequently called number from your phone to one in the local area code happened to be mine. I called Nick and once I was at the hospital, I got your mom’s number from your phone and called her. You know the rest.”

Megan nodded, mindful of the bugs in her apartment. “Like I said, I hit my head and I woke up in _The Twilight Zone_.”

“You can return to reality the day after tomorrow.”

“How do you figure?”

“That’s when you’re cleared to return to work. You can get the stitches checked at the S.H.I.E.L.D. medic center when you go in on Friday morning.”

She moaned as she thought about work for the first time since the attack. “I’m going to have to start that whole set of experiments over again. I was hoping to only have to do a second trial, but even if someone covered for me, I’m not going to trust the results. Remind me again why I took this job?”

“So you can eat in our most excellent S.H.I.E.L.D. cafeteria.” Steve replied dryly. He pointed out the medicine bottles he had just placed on the bar over her sink. “I picked up your prescriptions. Don’t forget to take them before you go to bed tonight.”

“Yes, Dad.”

****

After dinner, Steve cleaned up her kitchen, unfolded her sleeper sofa from the couch, and tucked her into bed with a kiss pressed to her forehead. He put her cell phone under her pillow and said, “Call or text if you need me,” before locking the apartment door behind him and leaving her alone. They both knew she wasn’t going to sleep well, but the only way either of them could see forward was to maintain the pretense that she’d done as her attackers had demanded and kept the details of their threats to herself.

She dozed fitfully, haunted by nightmares fueled by her medication. When dawn finally sent streaks of sunlight across her floor, she relaxed and fell into a deeper sleep. It made no sense. She knew that she was just as vulnerable in the day as she had been during the night, but the daylight made her feel safer.

Steve stopped by after work to check on her and heated leftovers for dinner. It frightened her a little bit to realize how easily he had slipped into the corners of her life. He never demanded anything from her but instead treated her friendship like a precious gift. It made it easy to forget how short a time she had actually known him. On that second night, he packed up his boxes and gave her back ownership of her coffee table, but only after taking the time to show her some of the items he had left from his parents lives: the family Bible, his mother’s favorite glass dip pen, his parents marriage certificate, and the folded flag that had been given to the young widow at her husband’s funeral. There was even a letter to his mother from his father, written late in their courtship. They were simple treasures, valuable only to Steve or the historians who wanted to study his life, but priceless to the now-grown son who had so little left of the parents who had loved him.

After Steve left with his boxes, Megan felt restless. Had Peggy appreciated him? Megan wanted to believe she had. Steve spoke too highly of her for Megan to believe Peggy had been blind to what Steve had to offer his life partner. It must have simply devastated Peggy to lose Steve before they ever got a chance to try for something more than the stolen moments that had been the basis of their relationship during the war.

Megan wanted to reach out to Peggy and get to know her and see for herself the kind of woman Peggy was, but it seemed too intrusive to seriously consider doing so, even without the complication of Peggy’s deteriorating mental state. It was up to Steve to make that contact. Still, it gave her an idea for something else she could do for Steve. It would take a bit of doing, but maybe it would distract her from her own problems and give her a way to repay him for all of the assistance he was providing to keep her family safe.

Pleased with herself for the idea, she got out some stationery and looked up the address of Stark tower. In this age of electronic surveillance she had a hunch that an old fashioned letter was more secure. She dropped the letter into the mail on her way to the bus stop on Friday morning.

**This was me starting to plan the reunion weekend that was my main motivation for writing the story! I just wanted to get Steve together with people from his past and help him heal. Megan and I envisioned a small, simple affair, mind you. I figured we’d just get the kids of the Howling Commandos together with Steve, have some fun, and wrap up the story. Ha!**

**Megan doesn’t want the press involved, so she figures she’ll write a request to Pepper Potts via Mr. Jarvis and ask if she would be willing to chat a bit on the phone and offer some advice on how to do this quietly. Things quickly spiraled out of my control.**

On Sunday, Steve came over after lunch and told her to grab her helmet so they could go for a ride. He bought her a sundae at a different ice cream stand than the one they had visited before, mainly to keep their routine unpredictable and their conversations private.

“I went on a little road trip yesterday and got you a new phone. It went active this morning. The number is the same,” Steve said as he slid it across the table to her.

Megan picked it up in shock and turned it on. “Why do I need a new phone?” She checked the menu and saw it had just about every possible app and option ever used on a phone. “I can’t believe…this phone must cost half a grand even without the extra features.” She gathered herself, determined not to give their observers any indication of how deeply this was affecting her. “Does it do dishes, too?”

Steve shook his head sadly, “No, it doesn’t do housework. But this one works on a different, proprietary network and it’s encrypted. Any messages you send by text will be unreadable by anyone who manages to intercept them. The phone will send an alert to a certain computer expert and his employer if the case is ever opened by someone trying to plant a tracer in it. Even opening the battery cover will trigger an alert. They’re going to monitor the operating system, too, and make sure no one tampers with the software. It’s as secure as a phone can be. The first thing you need to do, though, is set it up for thumbprint access.” Steve took the phone back long enough to show her how to do that. “If you are safe, use your right hand to unlock it. If you use your left hand to turn it on, you’re in trouble and a silent alert will be sent. Remember that right is all right.

“My friend is putting a security detail on your nephews and another on your mom and step-dad. Ideally, they’ll never know anyone is watching them, but they’ll intervene if necessary.” He didn’t need to explain what he meant by that later statement.

“Thank you.” Megan felt her eyes welling up with tears and she handed Steve a stack of family photographs she’d assembled at random to disguise her true intent. “I found the second photograph in the stack in my pocket on Friday night. I figure it was planted there when someone bumped into me on the Metro.”

Steve looked through the photographs in order, feigning interest in them as he asked for all of their names and how they were related to Megan. “Is this your nephew?” Steve asked, looking at the image of a six-year-old boy playing on his school playground.

Megan nodded. “His name is Keith. Turn the picture over.”

Steve pretended to drop some of the photographs and some of them flipped face down, letting him read the message as he picked them up again. He read the note silently to himself. _Well done, Dr. B. You’ll get your assignment soon._

“Any point running an analysis on it?”

“It’s typed, so I doubt it. I’ll ask my source.” Steve handed her back her photographs, minus the one of Keith, which he slipped into his pocket as he put his phone away. Megan would never have known he’d palmed it if she hadn’t known he was taking it.

“You know, if the hired hero gig doesn’t work out for you, you could always take your magician show on tour,” she murmured behind her napkin as she pretended to wipe her mouth. “Is he aware of the whole situation?”

“Fully. I trust him with this, Megan.”

“I know you do. You wouldn’t have gone to him otherwise.”

“He has a deep distrust of S.H.I.E.L.D. It’s a matter of great pride to him that I asked him for help rather than Nick. And before you worry about the costs, don’t. To him, it’s pocket change and an ego boost.”

Megan snorted. “From what I see in the press, he hardly needs more ego. But I get the impression there is a lot of pain behind that bravado. He seems… driven.”

“He is. I liked his father, but he was always more interested in projects than people. I suspect that affected his interactions with his son, too.”

Steve stretched and changed the subject, “I’ve been reading the books you picked up. It’s becoming obvious to me that I need to get current in the life sciences. Computers and biology seem to be the two areas that have changed the most since I put the plane in the water. I know you have your old textbooks, would you suggest I start with one of them or something else?”

“I have a couple of different textbooks that are really good, but I can tutor you, too. There is so much detail in the textbooks and you probably don’t need to know all of those details for your purposes. I’ve done some tutoring already, and I’m pretty good at identifying the big picture and helping people plug the details into that framework. If you find you enjoy it, we can delve more into the details later. Remind me when we get back to my apartment and I’ll show you the book I think you should start with.” She sighed, “I suppose we should head back.”

“Why don’t we get some takeout and go hike a trail? I know of a place with a trail that’s on the level and isn’t really hard.”

“That sounds wonderful. I just don’t feel much like acting for the entomologists today.”

“It’s alright. It’s been a rough week for you.”

“Says the guy who spent two nights in a hospital chair.”

“I’ve slept in worse places,” he reminded her.

Megan fingered the bandage that she had over her stitches so her clothing didn’t catch. “The attack on me was a professional job, wasn’t it?” she asked quietly. “Your typical street thug wouldn’t cut just the external jugular vein and nothing else.”

Steve nodded. “That’s another detail Officer Smythe didn’t pick up on. He seemed like a good guy, just really new to the job and in need of some more training.”

“Yeah. At least I was able to give him a lot of details that won’t matter at all. I did wonder, though, why you focused on the sounds of the bag.”

“The crinkling might have distracted you from the sound of footsteps behind you,” Steve explained. “After the verbal warning, did anything else happen that was worth mentioning?”

“Not really, there was just the whole ‘life flashing before your eyes routine’ that I’m sure you’re familiar with. It’s probably a dead end to try to identify them since I never saw them.”

“My friend’s computer expert is looking into security camera footage in the area. If he can’t find something there, we’ll have to wait until they tell you what they want. In the meantime, I have something for you.” Steve reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, square box.

Megan looked at him, puzzled, then gasped when she opened the lid and found the bracelet inside. “It’s gorgeous! This is too much.” Each link of the sterling silver bracelet was a crystal- embedded whale tail that shimmered and glistened in the light.

“What you can’t see is the tracking devices embedded inside several of the links. I know rings are a problem with the gloves you wear in the lab, but you can keep the bracelet on all the time. If the worst happens and you are taken, my friend has a chance of tracking your location. Obviously, there are some range limitations and if you go cave exploring, you’ll be out of reach, but it’s better than nothing. Since you have several dolphin and whale pictures around your apartment, no one will think it’s an odd choice for you.”

Megan got up and pulled Steve to his feet before she buried her face in his shoulder and hugged him tightly, still clutching the bracelet in her hand. “I don’t know what I did to deserve your friendship, but I’m more grateful than you’ll ever know.”

**Yes, Steve is probably being paranoid. On the other hand, he’s finally made a connection with someone only to discover she’s in danger. Megan’s lucky he’s not wrapping her in Nerf foam and locking her up in a tower for her own safety. He knows better than to even try.**

Mid-morning on Tuesday, Megan’s new phone chimed with an alert that she had an email message from Mr. Jarvis. “Dr. Buchwald, I spoke with Ms. Potts about the nature of your request and rather than schedule an appointment to offer advice on security, she has offered the use of Stark Tower for the event. Given the current infestation of your apartment, I need to know if you have a secure computer for correspondence. I understand that not everyone enjoys lengthy email conversations from their phone. Jarvis.”

“Want me to fetch your lower jaw?”

Megan blinked and looked up, “Huh? I’m sorry, Emma, what did you say?”

“I asked if you wanted me to chase down your jaw. I saw it running away under the bench over there,” Emma said waving in the general direction of Megan’s lab bench. “You okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Sorry, I just got a very unexpected message. Have you ever asked if you could have a taste and found yourself being served a five course meal on the house?”

“Can’t say that I have. But given how much Captain Rogers fancies you, I’m not surprised. I assume he gave you that swanky new phone, too?”

Megan nodded, unsure of what else she dared say. At least her new bracelet was currently hidden by the sleeve to her lab coat or Emma would never leave her alone.

“And you’re _still_ denying that you’re dating?” Emma said and rolled her eyes.

Megan blushed. “Honestly, I’m not sure what to think any more. He’s so far out of my league…”

Emma laughed. “Stop worrying and enjoy the ride. Later.”

Megan waved back absently and looked at her phone again. She sighed and composed a reply. “Please, call me Megan. I have a Macbook with wifi. I did set up my router to require a password. Yes, writing emails on a phone is tedious for a touch typist like myself. Suggestions welcome if my current setup needs to be improved.”

She received a reply almost immediately and marveled at Mr. Jarvis’s ability to type so quickly. “Dr. Megan, a courier named Pallavi Mullur will deliver my suggested solution to your apartment at 7 PM. She will be traveling incognito, so she will not have a Stark Industry logo on her jacket, but she will hold her ID card up to your peephole on request. I will begin the necessary research and will forward current contact information shortly. Jarvis.”

“Is there a way to verify I don’t have an infestation of cameras, too?” Megan wrote back.

“I will include the necessary equipment in your package.”

Nodding to herself in relief, Megan tucked her phone into her pocket and idly fingered her new bracelet. “Definitely not in Kansas anymore.”

****

When she arrived home, Megan was surprised and disturbed to find a package and note on her dining room table. Someone had been in her apartment again. This time, though, they clearly wanted her to know it.

With shaking hands, she got out her phone and took several pictures of the package and note, then sent them to Jarvis with a message. “Found this on my dining room table tonight when I got home. What should I do? I have gloves to wear when handling if you think we can get fingerprints.”

Then she picked up her cordless landline handset and called her mother, hoping to distract herself from her situation by talking about normal things. When her mother asked her why she sounded so stressed, she just brushed it off as post-attack jitters and continued fixing herself dinner. While she spoke to her mom, Jarvis texted her a reply to box up the materials and give them to the courier, so she dumped out the box’s contents, folded the container flat, and put them into a manila envelope with Jarvis’ name on the outside. She hung up with her mother then tucked her cell phone into her bra, taking some comfort in having access to help right on her person.

It was after she’d opened the box from Jarvis and found the note about how to check for cameras that she realized what she had done. Megan looked around her apartment in horror. There would have been no missing her actions of the evening, including her use of gloves and passing off the box and note to a courier. She barely made it to the bathroom before she surrendered the contents of her stomach then lay curled up on the cold tile, shaking and crying. She wanted so badly to call Steve, but she knew she had to handle this on her own. If she called him now, her observers might realize he was aware of the threats against her family, not just her unknown helper who had taken the envelope from her. She would not compound one error with another.

**Don’t you hate it when characters always do everything right? Me, too. One of the things I loved about Civil War (despite it breaking my heart) was how authentic it was in terms of people behaving in character. Even when it meant they continued to make mistakes and hurt each other, they stayed the course. Megan is not a trained spy. She’s making this up as she goes. She is going to make mistakes.**

 Her phone vibrated with a new text. She nearly dropped her phone twice before she was able to get her shaking hands to unlock it and open the message. “I’ve detected an elevated heart rate. Are you in danger? Should I send Captain Rogers? Jarvis.”

She held her fisted hand to her mouth and tried to keep her sobs relatively quiet. “Panic attack,” she texted back. “I’ll be okay.” She knew it was a lie even as she punched the characters into the phone with trembling hands. She was so cold. Maybe a hot shower would help?

She tried to stand but the room spun wildly. A bath then. Still nauseated, she crawled over to the tub and turned on the water as hot as she could tolerate and started to strip off her clothes.

****

“Megan? Are you all right?” she heard Steve call from outside the bathroom door. “You didn’t answer the door so I let myself in.”

“Steve?” Megan roused from her stupor. The water she was sitting in was cold. “Wh-what are you doing here?” she asked, realizing as she spoke that her teeth were chattering.

“I had a craving. Come on out and have some tea with me, okay?”

“Okay.” Megan tried to keep her voice from shaking. She felt safer with Steve in her apartment. He’d know what to do. Resolved, she opened the drain stopper and reached for her robe.

When she finally emerged, she found Steve in her kitchen, puttering over her stove and finishing preparations of her half-cooked dinner. “I decided on hot chocolate instead, is that okay?” he asked her, concern in his eyes. He nodded to the pad and pen on the table and she went over to read it. _Jarvis called me. I see you got his package. I checked and there are no cameras here. Relax._

Megan sobbed into her hands and sank into the chair that was still pulled out. Her amateur mistake hadn’t endangered her family. She just sat there shaking, both weak with relief and frozen to her core. She wrapped her hands around the mug of hot chocolate he set before her, trying to warm herself.

“Hey, come here. You’re freezing.” She let him pull her into a hug and ended up clinging to him like a frightened child. He stroked her hair, “Shh. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Megan tried to pull herself together and thought back to his earlier comment. “What were you craving?” she asked, her voice wavering despite her best efforts.

“You. I haven’t seen you since yesterday and I found myself craving your company,” he said, his tone light. “I didn’t expect to find you feeling under the weather. Are you getting the flu?”

Megan shook her head. “Panic attack, I think. I’ve never had one before but I could have sworn I was dying.”

“They do that to you. I can never decide if they’re better or worse than the nightmares. Drink your hot chocolate and then we’ll go for a walk. The fresh air will do you good.”

****

An hour later, they were walking around the city arm in arm. Megan was wearing the jacket Steve had bought for her. The smell of the leather and the softness of the warm lining were the perfect comfort to her chilled body, just as having him beside her was a comfort to her shattered confidence. He didn’t press her to talk, just smiled at her knowingly and led her on a wandering route down busy streets and past coffee shops that spilled light onto the sidewalk.

“I messed up tonight,” she finally said, looking down at her feet as they walked. “If there had been cameras, they’d have known I have help.”

“We all make mistakes. Just learn from it and do better next time.”

It was a relief that he didn’t tell her it was okay, because it really wasn’t. His honesty was a far better comfort. “How did Jarvis know?”

“He told me tonight that your bracelet also monitors your pulse. When you told him you were having a panic attack, he decided to let me know. He also forwarded the images you sent him of your little gift package.”

Megan blushed. She was no stranger to sex, but the boldness of the demand in the note made her decidedly uncomfortable. “The note would have been quite enough. Providing a box of condoms along with their demand for samples was a bit much.”

“Actually, that was rather thoughtful of them. What I found insulting was that they only gave you a month to seduce me. Setting aside the change from my day when the gentleman did the courting, I expect to be courted properly over a period of several months by my suitor. I’m not like Howard.”

Megan stopped and stared him. Of all the reactions she’d envisioned, this one had never occurred to her. “Insulted?” she stammered, somewhat incredulous.

“I am.” He looked her straight it the eye and continued in his serious tone, “It’s a complement to you, I suppose, that they expect you’ll get me into bed that easily. But, I’ll have you know that Captain America is not a gigolo.”

She saw the corner of his mouth twitch ever so slightly and she burst out laughing so hard she could barely breathe. He had to hold her up as she leaned against him, her knees threatening to give out beneath her. Gently, he guided her to a nearby park bench and sat down, pulling her into his lap while he waited for her to get herself under control.

“It wasn’t that funny,” he chided her.

**I agree, but it was the best I could come up with.**

“I disagree,” she said, the dissolved into giggles again. “I have an image of Captain America dancing in the middle of a horde of horny women with cheesy music playing in the background.”

“Please, don’t remind me of those days.”

“Wha—“ she broke off, remembering now how he’d mentioned his days in the USO selling war bonds. “I’d forgot. I don’t need a mental image when I can find it on the internet as soon as I get home.” That set of a new fit of giggles, which he endured silently, though he did roll his eyes.

“Forget I reminded you.” He tucked her hair behind her left and left his hand on her shoulder. “Feel better?”

Megan nodded. “But what are we going to do? They clearly want to use IVF to create a bunch of Steve juniors and we can’t let them do that. But if we don’t…”

“You’ll have to court me and I’ll play hard to get. We know what they want now, and that tells us more about them. We can use that to help track them down. If we have to, we get them some non-viable samples. With your background, can’t you kill the cells before they get delivered?”

**I’ve never written this sort of original B plot before, but I’m pleased with how it seems to have worked.**

“I suppose. But that won’t fool them forever. Then what?”

“We figure something out. Sometimes, you can’t plan an operation to the end and you have to just plan your next step and keep exploring options. The bigger challenge right now is you having to pretend you’re in love with me.”

Megan shook her head. “You really have no idea, do you?” she asked, leaning against him and tucking her head against his shoulder. She twined her fingers through his, looking down at their hands. “You’re easy to love, Steve. Whoever lands you for real is going to be really, really lucky. I’m half in love with you already, but you’re getting over Peggy and I’m getting over Randy. The hard part is going to be staying friends when this is over, and that’s really important to me. Feelings follow actions, you know. By the time this is done, I’m going to be completely smitten with you but for all the wrong reasons. Promise me we’ll stay friends and I’ll survive the breakup. I’m really more worried about you.”

“Why is that?” he asked into her hair.

“You’re loyal to Peggy and you’re not really ready to let her go. Dating me, even for pretend, might feel like a betrayal to her and that’s not fair to you.”

“Peggy would be the first one to tell me to get on with my life. We had our chance and lost it. I’ll always love her, but you’ve helped shake me out of the stupor of just existing. Besides, I never really got to court a girl before, other than the dames Bucky found for me and they don’t really count. It will be a nice change to know you’ll continue to see me after the first date. Kinda takes the pressure off, you know?”

Megan chuckled at that comment. He really had no idea how easy he was to be with. “So we’re really going to do this?”

In answer, he pulled his hand out of her grasp and lifted her chin so he could gently brush his lips against hers.

“Guess so,” she murmured before pulling him back for another, longer kiss.

**I don’t remember much about why I came up with the fake-dating idea, but I wanted to do something _different_. I wanted to focus on the friendship first and foremost and have them end up getting caught up in love a lot later on, realizing their feelings in the hospital after Winter Soldier, roll credits on the short novel. This is yet another example of the characters taking over. **

Much later, after her pulse was racing again for an entirely different and pleasant reason, he put her on her feet and started them back to her apartment. Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she checked the message. It was from Jarvis, checking that she was okay. It was both comforting and very disturbing to know that some man working for Tony Stark was monitoring her pulse. That would certainly lead to some awkward moments in the future given her low tolerance for cold showers. She bit her lip and sent a quick text back after first showing the message to Steve. “Steve’s a good kisser.”

Steve blushed and kissed her temple, then glanced down at the message Jarvis sent back almost immediately. “I expect no less from Captain Rogers.”

Megan laughed and put her phone away. “Jarvis never seems to sleep.”

Steve got quiet at that, then shrugged. “I guess it goes with being the resident computer genius.”

“It must.”

****

Back in her apartment, Steve slipped perfectly into his assigned role. “Where’d you get this new tablet computer? It’s pretty fancy with an accessory keyboard and mouse and everything.”

“My secret admirer sent it,” Megan replied on cue. She paused, thoughtfully. “You’re jealous. You really shouldn’t be, Steve, I’m not your girlfriend. Until you kissed me tonight, I never even knew you were interested.”

“Do you want to be?”

“That depends on how good the sex is.”

He blushed at that and Megan smiled. “It’s so much fun to make you blush.” She’d wondered how he’d react to her deviation from their planned script.

Despite the reddening of his cheeks, he acted like she’d said nothing unusual. “I’m serious.”

“So am I, Captain.”

“But you have the order of events all wrong.”

“New century, new rules. Life’s too short to waste time on someone if you’re not sexually compatible.”

“Life is too short to rush to the destination when the whole point is to experience the journey,” he replied.

“Then how about a wager? At the end of one month, I have you in bed. When I win, and I will, you agree that we’ll move in together.”

Steve rolled his eyes at her, laughing with his body though his tone was serious. “What happens when I win?”

Megan shrugged. “Your wager, your consolation prize. It hardly matters.”

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with, Megan,” he warned. “When I win, we get engaged, you let me court you properly, and we wait until our wedding night.”

“As long as you understand I’ll keep trying to wear you down and convince you to elope during that long courtship you think we’ll have, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Come here, Dr. Buchwald,” he crooked his finger at her. “Wagers like this one should be sealed with a kiss, not a handshake.”

**We saw in the Winter Soldier that Steve is quite comfortable with the internet and text messages on his phone. It’s clear that Steve is very intelligent and will adapt quickly to the new tools at his disposal in his new life. He immediately pocketed the Hydra technology when rescuing Bucky. He’s going to be very comfortable with modern tools once he takes the time to know how to use them. I think the culture shock and peoples’ reactions to him that makes his life challenging, along with the loss of just about everyone he ever knew.**

**Okay, the one exception to that will probably be TV/DVD/Multimedia remote controls. Just watching something on any TV in my house requires far too many remotes and swear words. Downstairs, where the menfolk have numerous game systems connected in a tangle of wires that would intimidate Tony Stark, I don’t even try to operate the devices. I call it Mission Control and stay away.**

 


	5. C15- 19 Gym torture through Big Announcement

5/20/13 3:03:AM

t[onystark@starkindustries.com](mailto:TonyStark@starkindustries.com)

To: [meganbuchwald@starkindustries.com](mailto:MeganBuchwald@starkindustries.com)

WTF: Flowers for Jarvis?

 

Dr. B.

Why did you send Jarvis flowers? He’s flustered and gloating!

T.S.

****

5/20/13 6:09:AM

[meganbuchwald@starkindustries.com](mailto:MeganBuchwald@starkindustries.com)

To: t[onystark@starkindustries.com](mailto:TonyStark@starkindustries.com)

Re: WTF: Flowers for Jarvis?

 

Mr. Stark,

My mother raised me with manners. Considering all of the assistance Mr. Jarvis has generously provided recently, a bouquet of assorted flowers to express my gratitude seemed quite appropriate.

Megan

******

5/20/13 6:11:AM

[tonystark@starkindustries.com](mailto:TonyStark@starkindustries.com)

To: [meganbuchwald@starkindustries.com](mailto:MeganBuchwald@starkindustries.com)

M,

Mine didn’t, so you’d better clarify what Jarvis did for you. He’s not allowed to gloat more than I do.

T.S.

*****

5/20/13 6:17:AM

[tonystark@starkindustries.com](mailto:TonyStark@starkindustries.com)

To: [megannuchwald@starkindustries.com](mailto:MeganBuchwald@starkindustries.com)

Re: WTF: Flowers for Jarvis?

Mr. Stark,

As Mr. Jarvis is your employee, I suggest you speak to him directly. If flowers are a cause for concern, I’ll be sure to send an edible arrangement next time.

Megan

*****

5/20/13 6:19:AM

[tonystark@starkindustries.com](mailto:TonyStark@starkindustries.com)

To: [meganbuchwald@starkindustries.com](mailto:MeganBuchwald@starkindustries.com)

M,

Dear God, no! He has too many sensitivities for that. Just stick with email.

T.S.

*****

5/20/13 6:27:AM

[meganbuchwald@starkindustries.com](mailto:MeganBuchwald@starkindustries.com)

To: [tonystark@starkindustries.com](mailto:TonyStark@starkindustries.com)

BCC: [jarvis@starkindustries.com](mailto:JARVIS@starkindustries.com)

Re: WTF: Flowers for Jarvis?

 

Mr. Stark,

Email cannot replace a written note for a formal expression of gratitude. I fail to see why you are so threatened by your employee’s obvious pleasure at my gift. This conversation is over.

Megan

****

5/20/13 6:33:AM

[meganbuchwald@starkindustries.com](mailto:MeganBuchwald@starkindustries.com)

To: [jarvis@starkindustries.com](mailto:jarvis@starkindustries.com)

Jarvis,

I apologize for causing you distress and problems with Mr. Stark by sending you flowers and a thank you note. That was never my intent.

Megan

 

*****

5/20/13 6:34:AM

[jarvis@starkindustries.com](mailto:jarvis@starkindustries.com)

To: [meganbuchwald@starkindustries.com](mailto:MeganBuchwald@starkindustries.com)

Dr. Megan,

Please do not apologize. I have derived great pleasure from your gift and have the flowers in full view at all times.

Jarvis

“It’s too early in the morning to deal with this crap,” Megan muttered to herself as she finished her second cup of tea and shut off the tablet Jarvis had sent her. It was bad enough that Jarvis seemed to be working around the clock in clear violation of employment laws. But for Mr. Stark to protest a token of appreciation seemed to be too much. She resolved that the next time she was in New York, she’d stop by the tower and deliver a bouquet to Jarvis in person and ask him to join her for a cup of coffee. Surely with his talents, he’d be able to find employment with someone who truly appreciated his dedication to his job. Maybe he just needed someone to point out that he had options beyond Stark Industries.

It was surprising that Steve hadn’t intervened before now. It wasn’t like him to stand by and let someone get bullied like Stark seemed inclined to do with Jarvis. Maybe Steve had simply been too distracted when he was in New York to notice it before. She was distracted from her musings by the chime of her phone, alerting her to a new text.

“Don’t forget to bring your workout clothes. I’ll meet you in the gym at 5,” Steve wrote.

“Sadist,” she texted back. Resigned, she grabbed the duffel bag she’d packed on her way out the door.

 

**Writing Megan’s discussion with Jarvis was pure joy. I was gigging the whole time since I knew everyone was in on the joke.**

******

“Why do I need my hands wrapped?”

Steve didn’t look up, but continued to carefully unwind the handwrap from the roll and wrap it around her hand, then her wrist, between her fingers, and then around her thumb. Again and again, his hands looped fabric around her own while she stood there and watched. “It protects you from injury by distributing the force across all of your joints.”

“Okay, that makes sense.”

“I’ll show you how to do it yourself later. The first few times, I think it’s better to have someone else do it so it isn’t too tight or too loose.”

“You’re assuming there will be a next time.”

He finally looked up and met her gaze. “I’m optimistic that way. You really hate this, don’t you?”

“Yup. I can’t even pretend it will help my riding improve.” She didn’t mention the looks they were both getting from the other agents working out in the gym. She didn’t belong here and she knew it, but Steve was trying to do her a favor so she was doing her best to ignore their audience.

“It will, so you don’t need to pretend.”

“Punching a sandbag is not going to improve my riding of the horse I don’t have.”

“By itself, no. But in the next few weeks, you’re going to build endurance and core strength. We’ll work on balance, too. And according to Wikipedia, core strength and balance are both very important in riding,” he explained as he finished wrapping one hand and started on the other. We’ll spend some time today working on how to throw a punch and then we’ll go for a run.”

“Run? These knees have to last me several more decades.” Megan looked up at him from under her bangs, “Can’t we just skip directly to crawling on broken glass and call it a day?”

Steve laughed. “I promise it isn’t going to be as bad as you think. This isn’t like your high school gym class.”

“It’s not my fault everything we did there involved a ball.”

“C’mon” he said, leading her over to one of the sandbags hanging in the S.H.I.E.L.D. gym.” Once you have good form, you can start hitting me directly.”

“Don’t tempt me. It will add an interesting layer to the rumors about our relationship when people learn you’re a masochist at heart.”

Steve just smiled patiently at her. He was in his element here, and it was quite clear to Megan that no amount of snark on her part was going to dampen his enthusiasm for teaching her some basic fighting skills. “I hate you, you know.”

“I saw _When Harry Met Sally_.” He smiled, “Fighting starts with your feet.” He used his own feet to adjust the width of hers as he stood behind her. “Turn your left foot forward a bit. Good. Now close your fists, thumb to the outside…”  

**And that about sums up all I know about boxing, and even that much required research. I hate the gym. I hate sweating. And I’m even worse than Megan about exercise. I honestly feel bad for Steve, taking on the project of getting Megan into shape.**

****

An hour later, Megan was limp from exhaustion. The shower washed away the sweat but did nothing about the fatigue settling into her bones. She was going to hurt all over tomorrow. Quickly, she pulled on her shirt and pants before padding barefoot over to the mirror where there was a hairdryer mounted to the wall.

“It will get easier in about three days,” a voice behind her said.

Megan turned and smiled at the lethal redhead. “I sure hope so. Nice to meet you, Agent Romanoff. I’m Megan.”

“I know who you are.” Natasha looked fit and graceful as she stood there in a tank top and yoga pants and with a small towel draped around her neck. She took a sip of water from her water bottle and Megan couldn’t help but admire the way she moved. It reminded her of a leopard on the hunt: death and beauty wrapped up in a lithe body. Piercing green eyes full of cunning and intelligence looked back at her. It was unsettling.

“Between your expertise and the S.H.I.E.L.D. rumor mill, I’d expect nothing less. Do you have any advice on what I can do tonight to make sure I’m able to move tomorrow morning?”

“Keep drinking water, take some pain medicine before you go to bed, stretch in the morning, and think evil thoughts about Rogers.”

Megan laughed. “I’ve got the last part down pat. He’s a stubborn Boy Scout.”

“You’re good for him.” Natasha said, studying her carefully. “I’ll help train you once you’re ready for hand-to-hand.”

Megan couldn’t hide her surprise. “Thank you.” She wasn’t sure what else she could say that wouldn’t make her sound incredibly stupid, so she just shut her mouth.

Natasha nodded slightly, almost to herself. “You’ll do,” she said, and headed for her locker to start stripping off her sweaty workout clothes.

Unsettled, Megan focused on drying her hair. Agent Romanoff was nothing like her reputation. Then again, Megan knew she was an expert chameleon and probably no one knew the real person behind the multiple facades she wore. Megan decided that in this case more than any other, she’d need to read actions rather than words. Natasha had offered to help, and that said everything.

**An unlikely friendship began right there. Natasha likes how Megan doesn’t back down or go all starry-eyed in Natasha’s presence. She respects Nat, yes, but doesn’t need to play games or prove she isn’t frightened. Megan knows she’s a good agent, so she’s not going to second guess why Nat works for SHIELD.**

****

The next morning, she rolled out of bed with a moan. Every muscle in her body hurt, including muscles she never knew she had. Remembering Natasha’s advice, she forced herself to stretch before taking a shower. By the time the aspirin and caffeine hit her system, she was starting to think she’d be able to function.

After catching up on the news, she opened her email and found a new message from Jarvis. He’d never answered her when she asked it if was his first name or last name, and simply replied that he went by Jarvis. Maybe it was a nickname? He wouldn’t be the first person to abandon the name their parents had chosen for one reason or another.

“Dr. Megan,” the message started. Why did he insist on using her title when she’d asked him to just call her Megan? It was another puzzle piece in the mystery of Jarvis. “I have finished my research and identified current mailing addresses for all of our targets. If you can secure Captain Rogers’ attendance from either August 9-12 or August 16-19, we can prepare the invitations. At present, Director Fury has no pending assignments for Captain Rogers for either of those weekends.”

Megan nearly spit her tea. “You have access to Director Fury’s schedule?” she typed back.

“Mr. Stark has requested that I monitor the activities of key S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives. He has a deep distrust of government agencies as a result of his time in Afghanistan.”

It made sense on one level, but it was unsettling to know that the S.H.I.E.L.D. computer systems were so vulnerable. She decided not to worry about that for the moment. “I’ll talk to Director Fury today and see what I can do,” she wrote back.

****

Once at work, she asked Agent Hill if she could have time to speak with Fury that day. To her surprise, she was ushered right into his office. “Did you get tired of studying the Potomac?”

“I’d rather do that than paperwork,” he looked up from his desk and tilted his head to the empty chair, indicating she should sit. “Is General Ross being a problem again?”

Megan shook her head. “He tromps and growls around the lab area a lot, but he’s left me alone. I’m here with a request for some time off for Captain Rogers, and I’d like it to be an order from you.”

Nick’s eyebrow shot up. “You’re planning a romantic weekend getaway?”

Megan smiled and shook her head. “Hardly, but he would need the entire weekend off, ideally the first or second weekend in August. I’ve been planning a sort of reunion for him. When I asked Pepper Potts for advice on how to manage such an event without having to worry about unwanted intrusions by the press, she offered the use of Stark Tower. But given the number of people who will be traveling, it would be rather inconvenient to have Steve sent out on a field assignment and miss the whole thing.”

“I cannot control what happens in the world, Dr. Buchwald.”

“No, but the world managed to keep turning for several decades after Steve was lost in the ice. I think she can manage one more weekend without him, especially in light of how much this will help his ongoing adjustment to his new life.”

“By dwelling in the past?”

“By reconnecting to his roots. Think of him as a transplanted flower. If you want him to thrive in his new pot, you’ve got to preserve the root structure. Cutting a stem at the base and sticking it in new soil generally doesn’t work very well. I think you have to agree that he’s been coping better these last few months. I’m just trying to keep that process going the best way I know how.”

**Yes, Megan is alluding to the title here. I had the title well in mind for this story for a long time. We all need an anchor: someone we know we can rely on to keep us grounded when life gets difficult. And many of us yearn to be connected to our pasts or to a community. Steve is grieving for his old life. That boy has  Brooklyn roots and he’s hurting at being ripped away from home.**

**This scene was necessary to ensure Steve was available for the weekend. It also gave me a chance to push back against the notion Fury has about Steve’s role in SHIELD. He wants to use Steve for his own ends, and does so in large part to protect the lives of his other agents. But Nick has a blind spot and doesn’t see how badly Steve is really hurting.**

“Just what sort of reunion is this going to be?” Nick asked, leaning back in his chair to study her with that inscrutable, one-eyed gaze.

Megan told him and tried to read his reaction, but he didn’t let anything slip, at least that she could detect. She laid out all of the plans she and Jarvis had come up with and how they envisioned the weekend’s proceedings. Nick just sat there silently, listening to the overview and relevant details but never once making a comment until she was done.

“Alright, Dr. Buchwald,” Nick said at last, leaning forward in his chair. “I’ll send Captain Rogers to New York the first Friday in August in full dress uniform. I’ll tell him that it’s a special assignment on official S.H.I.E.L.D. business.”

“Thank you, Director. I appreciate your help with this. Steve does, too, he just doesn’t know it yet.”

****

“Hello?” Megan answered the phone without turning on a light to check the caller I.D.

“Megan, are you okay?” Steve’s worried voice wrapped around her like a hug in a way that almost made up for interrupting her sleep. She looked at the clock, it was just past ten in the morning.

“I’m fine.” She yawned. “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry, did I wake you? It’s after ten and I thought you’d be awake by now.”

“It’s okay, Sergeant Morning Lark. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, but you need to get dressed and be ready for me to pick you up in a half hour. I promise it’s worth getting up for, sleepyhead.”

“What’s the dress code?”

“Jeans. We’re taking my bike.”

“Okay, bye.” Megan yawned and put the phone back into the base to charge. Given Steve’s enthusiasm for making her exercise, she had visions of him dragging her on a ten-mile hike uphill somewhere. But he’d sounded excited so she’d put on a happy face until she knew what tortures he had in mind.

*****

An hour later, she was riding behind him on his bike, no less curious and slightly more awake. The vibrations of the bike beneath her were shaking the fatigue from her brain. Steve had refused to give her any hint about their destination, insisting that he wanted her to figure it out for herself.

As he took them further way from the city, highways lined with strip malls and housing developments gave way to roads threading through lush farmland. The morning sunshine on the verdant hills was beautiful and reminded her of home. She really needed to get out of the city more often because just being out here was relaxing her.

They turned down the drive of a farm and she noticed horses in the pasture near the road. The sign over the driveway said, ‘Merrylegs’ Adventures’ and she wondered if it was a reference to Anna Sewell’s _Black Beauty._ As wonderful as it was to be visiting a stable, she couldn’t afford lessons, so she wondered what Steve was planning by bringing her here.

After Steve turned off the bike and put down the kickstand, she hopped off, took off her helmet and shook out her hair. “What are you up to?”

“I can’t sign you up for lessons until you check them out. I’ve never been around horses so I don’t know what to look for. I got the name of this place from someone who used to come here and it seemed like a pretty nice farm when I drove by it earlier this week.” Steve explained as he took his own helmet off and hung it on the handlebar of his bike. “We’re supposed to get a tour from someone named Sally.” He nodded his head towards the woman heading their way, “That must be her. Good morning, ma’am. Are you Sally?”

“That I am. You must be Steve.” Sally shook Steve’s offered hand. “Tonya said you wanted a tour and to find out about lessons.”

“I’m Megan. It’s nice to meet you,” Megan said taking her turn shaking hands. She looked back at Steve, “When you plan a surprise, you go all out.”

He just smiled and waited for her to take charge.

“You look like— ”

Megan saw a familiar look on Sally’s face and cut in, “I know! It’s uncanny, isn’t it?” She wrapped her arm around Steve’s waist and leaned into him. “I think he should moonlight at kids’ birthday parties as Captain America. Put a costume on him and give him a shield to wave around, and he could make a fortune! It figures that his parents named him Steve! But that’s the name his parents gave him and that’s the name he’s going to keep. Besides, I saw Captain America once, and he definitely looked taller.”

Steve looked down at her, “When?”

She waved her hand dismissively, “He was walking down the hallway at work one day. He seemed so serious.” She looked up at Steve, smiling impishly. “You, on the other hand, you smile more. That’s a good thing.” She turned her attention back to their guide. “So, about the barn tour.”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I just thought—”

“Happens all the time,” Steve admitted. “Don’t worry about it.”

“That must get annoying after awhile.”

“You have no idea,” Megan chimed in before Steve could say any more. “How many horses do you have on site?” she asked, slipping out from Steve’s grasp and into Sally’s personal space. It was time to get this tour started and Sally’s mind back on horses. 

“Eleven of our own, and three boarders. We don’t board for just anyone, but some of our regulars ended up buying horses and continuing lessons here, so the owners decided to allow boarding under those conditions as long as we have the room and if we can use those horses in lessons as needed.” Sally led them into the old but spacious wooden barn that had two rows of stalls on either side of a large open area.

“As you can see, all of our horses have their own box stalls and are brought in at night or in bad weather. The rest of the time, we have several pastures for turnout we can rotate them through. We have a covered outdoor ring with lights so we can use it after dark plus several miles of trails. Twice a year, we host some local 4H groups for their shows and on those two weekends, there are no lessons.

“Hello, Mickey,” Sally cooed to the white horse sticking his head over the stall door. “When the weather is really bad, we can use this smaller indoor arena for lessons. Mickey here is inside for a few days until his eye heals. Aren’t you, sweetie?” Sally scratched Mickey’s head behind his ear and then rubbed his neck while he nosed her jacket looking for treats.

“What happened to him?” Steve asked.

“We’re not sure. He somehow got a cut on his eyelid. The vet put some stitches in and he’ll be fine in a few days. But until it’s healed up, we’re not turning him out with the others.”

**Real horse, real injury, totally plopped in her for additional flavor and authenticity. Yes, the horse in question is actually named Mickey.**

A dark brown horse in the next stall stuck his head out and nickered at them. Sally laughed. “Getting jealous, aren’t you, Hamlet?”

“May I?” Megan asked before reaching to stroke Hamlet’s soft neck.

“Go ahead. All of our horses are good natured. We don’t let the kids feed them by hand so they never develop bad manners with their mouths.” Sally explained.

“You’re a sweetheart, aren’t you, Hamlet?” Megan said softly, stroking the horse. Hamlet lowered his head and he gave her a half-lidded gaze as she scratched all the right spots.

“Why is he inside?” Steve asked, keeping his distance.

Sally gave him a knowing look, seeming to recognize how new he was to the equine world. “Horses are herd animals. They get pretty upset if they’re separated from everyone else. Since Hamlet and Mickey are buddies, we kept him inside so Mickey feels relaxed. Sometime this afternoon, we’ll put these two on lunge lines and get the wiggles out of their legs. Tomorrow, we’ll keep Pumpkin inside for company and turn out Hamlet.”

Megan peered into Hamlet’s stall while she continued to find all of Hamlet’s favorite spots for scratching. The stall was clean and had a good layer of bedding, as did the adjacent stalls. It was obvious that all of the stalls were maintained daily. The horses all had water buckets that were clean and full of fresh water.

“Do you ride English or Western?” Sally asked as she continued to rub Mickey’s forehead.

“I can do ether, but I strongly prefer English.”

“Okay. Our horses are used to lessons with either. I prefer English myself. Before he came here, Mickey did a lot of dressage work, so he might be a good one for you to work with once we assess your skill level. Let me show you the outdoor ring and the pastures.” Sally gave Mickey one last pat on his neck and led them out the other end of the barn.

As they followed her, Megan gave Steve a nod and smile to let him know she approved of what she had seen so far, including the ramp and elevated mounting block to aid wheelchair bound riders. “Do you work with a lot of clients in wheelchairs?”

“Not many, but we do have a lot of kids who are on the autism spectrum come here for horse therapy. We’ve got a really strong volunteer program to make sure the kids and horses all have a good time. We have three instructors and in the summer, we run a lot of day camps for special needs kids. Some of them have never been on a horse until they come here, and it really empowers them to learn to communicate with such a large animal.”

Outside, Megan noticed the water troughs and well-maintained pastures. “If I were a horse, I think I’d be very happy here,” she said.

A large black draft horse came trotting over to the gate and nickered to Sally. “Hello, Pumpkin.”

“That horse’s feet are the size of my head.” Steve said with amazement in his voice.

“She’s a Percheron, which is a type of draft horse. She’s everyone’s favorite. You’ll never find a horse with more patience than Pumpkin. And she’s as gentle as a kitten. We use a lot of draft horses here since they have such a good temperament. But the first time you get on her, you’ll swear it’s like climbing onto a sofa.” 

“She’s beautiful, but isn’t she awfully short for a Percheron?” Megan asked.

“She is,” Sally agreed. “Most go 3-4 hands taller. She’s just over 14 hands herself. We’re glad, actually, since it makes it a bit easier for our spotters to reach across her back and help the kids. No treats this time, Pumpkin.” Sally patted her neck and stepped back from the gate. Pumpkin tossed her head once and took off at a canter across the field to rejoin the others.

**Pumpkin is another real horse and was the one I started on after not riding at all for nearly 30 years. She really is a sweetheart but also a bit used to having her way. She gets bored with endless ovals, and she always seemed a bit perpelxed when I not only was firm with her, but asked for figure eights and serpentines.**

 

Megan sighed and leaned on the top of the gate. “I swear there is nothing more beautiful than the sight of a horse running free.”

“They are majestic creatures,” Sally agreed watching Pumpkin go.

“When can I start?” Megan asked.

“Do you prefer evenings or weekends?”

“Weekends. I don’t suppose the busses run out this far.”

Sally shook her head.

“I’m bringing you, Megan, so don’t worry about it,” Steve said, moving up behind her and putting his arm around her waist. “If I get called in to work, you can just borrow my car.”

“Steve….”

“You need this, sweetheart. You’re more relaxed than I’ve seen you in ages, and that’s just from being here for a few minutes I don’t know anything about horses, but I know you.” He turned to Sally. ‘Is there a place where I can sit and watch?”

 

**At the time I wrote this, I had a parent in the hospital facing life threatening (surgery was risky but vital) yet life saving heart surgery. I was in danger of losing one of my biggest anchors. A lot of that angst got poured into fanfic writing as an outlet. So it was a natural thing to put Megan into the same therapy I use myself: a barn. At one point, I actually went up to the barn in freezing cold weather and begged for special permission to just groom a horse so I could get myself in a better place. Yes, it helped. And the horse was happy with the extra attention.**

 

“Yes, we have bleachers in the corner of both the indoor and outdoor rings.” Sally looked at Megan and added, “He’s a keeper.”

Megan blushed and nodded. “I know. But Steve, that’s a real burden on your schedule.”

“My motives are selfish. I get to take a break from the city and sketch while you ride.

“Okay, and maybe, one of these days, we’ll get you on a horse instead of watching me fumble around. There is nothing like a trail ride to recharge you.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Right now, our only weekend opening is on Saturday mornings at 9 AM.”

“I’ll take it if that works for you,” Megan said, looking at Steve. He nodded. “Can I start next week?” she asked.

“I’d hoped to take you home to see your folks next weekend,” Steve told her.

“You’d better marry him before he gets away!” Sally teased. “Do you want to see the outdoor ring? We can’t get close because there is a lesson going on right now. Andrew gets distracted very easily, but he’s gotten so much better with his focus in the six months he’s been coming here, it’s like he’s a different kid.”

“That’s okay. I don’t want to interrupt his time. I can tell from what I’ve seen that you take good care of both the horses and people here.” Megan said.

“We do our best. Do you need a helmet or boots? We have some in the tack room if you need to use them.”

Megan shook her head. “I have my own already. I used to ride when I was in graduate school but haven’t been able to since moving to the area. I can’t wait to get back in the saddle.”

“Let me get you the paperwork you need to fill out and I’ll put you on the schedule. You can bring the forms back with you when you come in two weeks.”

Megan slid her hand into Steve’s and fell into step beside him as they followed Sally back through the barn to the main entrance.

 

****

They stopped for lunch on the way home. “I can’t thank you enough for the lessons,” Megan said as they sat down in their booth after getting salads from the salad bar.

“You don’t need to. Can’t I treat my girlfriend to something she wants? You’ve been working so hard at the gym despite how much you hate it. I figured riding again would help make it more worthwhile to you. That was before I saw you at the barn. You were glowing. I can’t wait to see what you look like on a horse if just being near them makes you that happy.”

Megan ducked her head a little, “Don’t get too excited. I’m no athlete.”

“You’re better than you think. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you have some dancing training in your background. But talent can only take you so far. You’ve got the determination to learn and that’s what really matters.”

“Actually, I did ballet for four years when I was a kid. I quit in second grade because I hated that I wasn’t going to get to wear toe shoes for several more years. And I absolutely sucked at gymnastics. I can only do a cartwheel one way and never did learn how to do a round off.”

“It’s possible that is partly due to your build. You’re taller and have longer legs than most gymnasts I’ve seen. It probably affected the physics enough that it was harder for you than some of the others in your class. If you got discouraged, it started a cycle of frustration and failure. That does not mean you lack athletic ability. It seems to me that the frustration got worse as you got into gym class, so you quit trying so much.”

“My mom used to send me outside to play and I’d take a book out with me, climb the apple tree, and sit there reading.”

 

**Yup, I really did.**

 

“So you missed out on years of practice just like I did, but for different reasons.”

Megan pointed her fork at him “You like exercise.”

Steve nodded. “After so many years of not being able to keep up with the other kids, it’s a joy to go running and not end up in an asthma attack. I felt left out when all the other boys my age were out playing and I was lying in bed coughing. Training in the gym is just me making up for lost time. The effects of the serum do make it easier for me. I used to have terrible reflexes and I haven’t forgotten what it’s like.” Steve put his hand over hers. “Riding horses for you is like running is for me. I want you to have that.”

“Well, I appreciate it.”

“Why did you lie about who I was?”

“I didn’t lie. I misled her. There’s a difference. You deserve some down time that isn’t consumed by adoring fans who want pictures and autographs. Once they get to know you as a person, I’ll set the record straight if it makes you feel better.”

“We’ll see how it goes,” he said as he studied her. “You must really love horses to get up on a Saturday morning to go riding.”

“You need to try it sometime. There is nothing else like it. Besides, you never know when being able to handle horses could help you out in the field. I know that in some parts of the world, horses are still being used in wars. I read recently that there were U.S. special forces begin trained to handle horses because of some recent experiences in Afghanistan where they were trying to fight on horseback alongside the locals despite never having ridden before. I can’t imagine that worked well.”

“I’ll think about it. I really want it to be your time.”

Megan shook her head. “Taking lessons together won’t interfere with my fun one bit, I promise.”

“We’ll see. For now, it will be nice just to have some time to do some sketching.”

**I was still under the illusion I was writing a short story and posted a note asking if people wanted to see the “pointless segue” of a trip to Megan’s hometown or just know it happened and move on. The results of the very non-scientific poll led to introducing Megan’s whole family and celebrating Steve’s birthday (I sat down and calculated after taking things like leap year.into account. The things we research for accuracy!)**

**In the end, those four extra chapters added a lot to the overall story and let me explore Megan and Steve a lot more than I originally intended.**

*****

Megan looked at her watch as she approached Steve where he was waiting by his car in the parking garage. “We’re not going to get there until nearly midnight given the traffic right now. But at least we will get there. Have you ever been through Breezewood, Pennsylvania? It’s an interesting little town with quite the history.”

Steve shook his head and reached for Megan’s suitcase.

She quickly stepped in front of it. “Don’t you dare lift anything heavier than your key ring as you pass it to me, mister. I don’t imagine you paid attention to your medical discharge directions, did you?”

“Actually, I did. I just usually ignore them.”

Megan raised an eyebrow and held out her hand for the keys. “The little lady can put her own suitcase into the trunk.”

“I’m not hurt that badly.”

“Uh huh. Did you forget to mention the concussion that is clearly inducing short term memory loss? Gunshot wounds are serious, even for you. So go play invalid and get comfortable while I put my super-heavy luggage into the car. Comply and I play the nice music. Argue and I dig out my high school favorites, which I happen to know will offend your delicate ears. If you enjoy suffering, keep standing there.”

“I’m going to go get in the car,” he said with mock contriteness as he handed her his keys.

“Smart man. Do you have a travel pillow?”

“No, I don’t normally sleep while I’m driving.”

“You can wad my jacket up and use that until we get to Frederick. There’s a shopping center we’ll be going right past and we can buy one then. It will keep your neck a lot happier while you sleep.” Megan moved his shield so she didn’t scratch it with her suitcase, then laid it on top of the luggage before closing the trunk. She passed him her jacket when she got in and fastened her seatbelt.

“I don’t need a pillow.”

“Suit yourself, but sleep helps you heal and you have a lot of healing to do. It also takes energy. When is the last time you ate?”

His stomach rumbled and he gave her a sheepish look as he moved the seat-back into a semi-reclining position. “I guess we need to stop and get something.”

“How about an Arby’s sandwich? You could use the protein.”

“Okay.”

“Do you have any calcium supplements?”

“No, why?”

“That cast isn’t just for decoration. Your body needs calcium and phosphorus to mineralize the extracelluar matrix as the cells heal that wound. You can either provide that through food and supplements or let your system pull it from your other bones. Me? I’d drink extra milk and protein and take some calcium supplements to cover my bases.

“You’re talking about the osteoblasts and osteoclasts remodeling the bones, right?”

“You got it. If you ever get tired of soldiering, you can come work in the lab.”

“That’s sounding better by the day.”

Megan patted his knee as she pulled out into traffic. “Is you car always this clean?” _Did you check it for bugs?_

“No bugs. I checked when I was waiting for you. I see you got the banana bread.” Steve balled up her jacket and used it to fill in the space between his headrest and the door.

She fingered the bell she now wore on a chain around her neck. “Emma was desperate for details. I’m starting to become paranoid because it felt like she was pressuring me to pressure you. I am not cut out for the spy business.”

“Me neither, as Natasha frequently reminds me. You and I show our thoughts on our faces. Kinda makes it hard to lie. Trust your gut. If you felt uneasy, there was probably a good reason for it.”

“You were supposed to tell me I’m tilting at windmills.

“I don’t like lying. It’s possible she is just nosey, but until we know all the players, we can’t trust anyone.”

“Which brings me to my mother. She’s a walking lie detector. If we can pull off this weekend without her getting any ideas about me being in danger, it’s going to be a miracle. You’ll like her, but between being a mother and an elementary school teacher, I’ll put her up against anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. for sniffing out the truth.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Just so you know, we’re celebrating your birthday this weekend.”

“My birthday isn’t until July.”

“Actually, it’s June 21, 1984, and June 21 isn’t too far away.”

“Maybe I do have a concussion because you just lost me.”

“If you take your age when you put the plane down, then use that to back calculate your birthdate from the day they thawed you out, you get June 21, 1984. Do you seriously want to celebrate turning ninety-five this summer when you’re actually are dating an older woman?”

“When is your birthday?”

“August 4, 1983, which makes me almost a year older than you. I’m a cradle robber.”

Megan could tell he was mulling it over. “Maybe I should have S.H.I.E.L.D. put that on my driver’s license so I do less explaining every time I have to show I.D.”

“I’m surprised no one suggested it before. Keep your original date of birth for Captain America. As Steve Rogers, though, I think you deserve to fly under the radar when you can.”

“My parents got married on June 21,” Steve told her quietly. “I think I’ll talk to Agent Hill when we get back.”

 

****

 

After picking up food at a drive through and stopping briefly in Frederick for a travel pillow and calcium supplements, Steve leaned the seat back further and tried to sleep. He dozed fitfully, mumbling in his sleep and occasionally called out for Bucky. Megan left him alone. He was injured and possibly reliving a battle so she didn’t know how he’d react if she tried to wake him. They were just getting off of I-70 in Breezewood when Steve started talking about putting the plane into the water, which really got to her. She pulled into an empty area of the Gateway Travel Plaza parking lot and shut off the engine. When that didn’t wake him, she got out of the car and stood by her open door. Putting as much authority into her voice as she could, she barked at him, “Captain Rogers, wake up!”

He sat up with a start and looked around wildly, disoriented and on full alert.

“Are you back in the present with me?”

“Megan?” He scanned the parking lot for threats. “What’s wrong?”

“You were dreaming. I let you go until you started talking about putting your plane in the water. You don’t need to relive that again, but I didn’t know how you’d react if I touched you to wake you up.”

“I’m sorry,” he sank back into his seat, looking exhausted and defeated.

“Don’t you dare apologize. I’m not afraid of you. But you’ve been reliving battles for the last half hour. It didn’t seem like a good idea to be in striking distance if you took a bit to realize where you were. I could use a bathroom break and the restaurant here has good food. While don’t we eat and let you shake off the dreams before we get back on the road?”

“Okay.” He sighed. “You shouldn’t have to be so careful,” he said as he got out and shut his door.

She put his car keys in her purse and took his hand as she fell into step beside him. “And you shouldn’t feel guilty about things you can’t control. You’re not the only soldier to find out a battle-ready mindset followed him home. Would you suggest I wake Agent Romanoff from a nightmare by sitting down beside her and patting her arm?”

“Good point. It’s just—“

Stopping, she too his face in her hands and kissed him until she had his full attention on her and not his guilt. “Remember, I can change the music if you argue with me. The driver controls the entertainment.”

“Is that so?”

“Megan’s rule. But if you kiss me like that again, I’ll let you buy me dinner without arguing about who pays.”

“You’d lose anyways, but it’s best that we avoid making a scene.” He said as he twined the fingers of his good hand through her hair and pulled her closer.

 

**The Gateway Travel Plaza is a real place with yummy food. In Breezewood, you actually have to get off of one highway and drive through the town to get on to the other highway. It’s a nice place to stop and get a bite to eat. It’s hell to navigate on heavy travel days which turn it all into a giant parking lot. Driving through the day before Thanksgiving isn’t even worth attempting.**

****

 

They arrived at her parents’ house shortly before midnight. Groggy from dozing, Steve agreed to let Megan unload the groceries from the car. He’d hesitated at first, not wanting to offend her mother by bringing his own food, but didn’t want to stretch her budget with his voracious appetite, especially since he was healing. Megan had assured him no offense would be taken and they’d stopped near the end of their journey to pick up some buns, lunchmeat, and cheeses so he could make himself some extra sandwiches between meals. The fact Steve didn’t insist on helping her take their belongings inside told Megan a lot about how much pain he was in.

She showed him around the kitchen and then sent him into the bathroom to change into pajamas while she took his shield and luggage upstairs and put away the food. Her mother and step-dad had already gone to bed but had left a note of welcome saying they’d see them in the morning.

He came out into the kitchen carrying his t-shirt and sling and wearing only pajama bottoms. “I left my clothes folded on the floor in there for now.”

“That’s fine. Let’s get your bandages changed. Here, sit down. Megan pulled a chair out from the dining room table and turned on the lights so she could see better. She took the bandages off and silently shook her head. “This looks like it hurts something fierce. It’s still seeping blood.”

“It will be better tomorrow.”

Megan put fresh telfa pads on his upper chest and back where the bullet had done through his shoulder, then wrapped his torso with a compression bandage to hold everything in place. “How long is it going to take you to heal from your Swiss cheese imitation?”

“About a week. My wrist will heal in about two, the big fracture in my humerus maybe three. The worst part is not being able to go running while the gunshot wounds heal. I rely on that to clear my head.”

“Maybe getting away will help.”

“I hope so.”

“Okay, now stand up so we can do your leg.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Megan folded her arms and studied him, trying to figure out what the problem was. He wasn’t afraid of her help since he’d just accepted it. All he needed to do was… “Wait here,” she said softly, understanding his conundrum. She returned a minute later with a bath towel. “You can wrap this around your waist. I’ll turn my back until you’re ready,” she said, handing him the towel.

He took it from her and she heard the whisper of fabric dropping around his ankles. “Okay.”

Turning back to him, she gently eased the lower edge of the towel up his left leg until she could see the bandages. Going more by feel than sight, she unwrapped his leg and laid the bloodied pads on the floor. “These are still leaking blood, too.”

“I hope there are old sheets on the bed.”

“Don’t worry about it. We can get blood out of sheets if it comes to that. I’m putting you upstairs, by the way. You’ll be closer to the bathroom. You need to stay off this leg as much as you can until it heals more.”

“I thought I heard voices,” Megan’s mom said, coming down the stairs in her housecoat.

 

**Hmm. How can I make this introduction as awkward as possible for Steve? I know, I can have Megan help change his bandages!**

 

“Hi, Mom. Sorry we woke you.” Megan glanced up at Steve in empathy. He was doing his best to look nonchalant about standing in the dining room dressed only in a towel while she was on her knees in front of him. Could there be a more awkward way to meet her mother for the first time?

“You didn’t. I’ve been having trouble getting to sleep. It’s nice to meet you in person, Steve. I’m Kathy.”

“Pleasure is mine, ma’am,” he managed to say, waving at her half-heartedly with his broken wrist while holding the towel up with his right hand.

Megan bit her lower lip at the way Steve was turning different shades of pink and ducked her face so he wouldn’t see. “Mom, hand me the roll of compression tape from the counter, will you please? This one’s almost out and I don’t want the telfa pads to shift in the night.”

“Here you are. I’m going to fix myself some chamomile tea. Do either of you want something hot to drink?” Kathy busied herself in the kitchen and pretended she was completely oblivious to Steve’s embarrassment or current state of undress.

“Tea always sounds good. Steve?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Megan wrapped his leg and cut the excess length of bandage. “All done.” She pulled his pajama pants up past his knees so he could reach the waistband, then stood up and turned her back to him. Steve stepped sideways, putting the kitchen peninsula between himself and the women before tying the drawstring and eliminating his need for the towel. He folded it and laid over the back of one of the chairs.

“It’s good to be home, Mom,” Megan said, giving her mother a hug. She winked at Steve over her mom’s shoulder and he smiled back at her. “Steve, do you want help with your shirt so you don’t have to move your arm so much?”

He sighed, exhaustion plain in his every movement. “Please.”

“Mom, before you ask, it’s two gunshot wounds, a broken humerus, a broken wrist, two dead agents, and a third in critical condition on a mission that went FUBAR due to bad intelligence. Without Steve, the body count would have been lot higher. Anything more is classified and nothing either you or I get to hear about.” While she talked, Steve put his left arm though his sleeve and let her stretch the shirt over his head before he put his other arm through. She felt him relaxing now that he was dressed.

“Then it’s good that you were there, but I expect that doesn’t help much while you’re second guessing yourself.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked looking slightly defensive at Kathy’s comment.

“While it’s all still fresh, anyone in your position would be replaying every move in their minds, trying to figure out what you could have done differently. If you’re smart, you’ll use any insights for the next time but not beat yourself up over what’s done. I’m sure you did your best and that’s all anyone can ask.”

Picking up the sling, Megan helped him with the strap that went around his back to hold his arm against his body while he slept.

His head swiveled back and forth between them. “I want to say you sound like Megan, but I think it’s the opposite.”

Kathy laughed softly, mindful of her husband still sleeping upstairs. “She’s a lot smarter than I am but I thank you for the compliment. Now come here. I want to give you a hug and thank you properly for being by Megan’s side in the hospital. It’s never easy to know your children are hurting, and it’s worse if you know they’re alone. Having you there was a great comfort to me and to Megan, I’m sure,” Kathy said as she hugged Steve very carefully, mindful of his wounds.

“How about some cheese and crackers?” Megan asked, looking in the pantry. “I’ve got the munchies. It will make the calcium supplements sit better in your stomach, Steve.” She looked at her watch. “Shouldn’t you be due for some pain medicine by now?”

He shook his head. “Pain meds won’t work. My system burns through them too fast for them to do any good. Food sounds good, though.”

“What do you do then?” Kathy asked.

“Tough it out. I don’t have much choice.” He sat down at the table and leaned back in the chair wearily.

“Have you ever tried hypnosis?”

Steve shook his head.

“You look skeptical. It’s not like you see in the movies. Hypnosis doesn’t take away your self control or change who you are. However, it can help you change behaviors or manage pain. I don’t know if Megan told you, but I have fibromyalgia and arthritis so I live with chronic pain. I’ve found hypnosis does help me manage it better. Let me get my CD and you can try it when you go to bed.”

“Steve, I had no idea,” Megan said, walking up behind him and dropping a kiss on the top of his head. “Mom’s right about the hypnosis, though. It can’t hurt you and it might help you get some relief tonight. The CD’s just an narrator talking to you and walking you through a process of relaxation. Once you’re in a suggestive state, the narrator will suggest ways to visualize the pain leaving you. You’ll relax, but you won’t lose awareness of where you are or what’s going on. If I knocked on your door and told you I needed your help, you’d still hear me and respond. I think you should try it even if you’re skeptical.”

He sighed heavily. “Okay. Where are you going to be tonight?”

“There’s a spare bedroom in the basement. Originally, I’d figured you’d prefer to be there since it’s a bit less in the center of things. But with your leg, I don’t want you traipsing up and down stairs just to use the bathroom. Text me on your cell if you need me. I’ll have mine downstairs by my bed. I’ve put your suitcase on the floor in front of the closet. Your shield is with it. Head left when you get upstairs. If you have trouble sleeping, go sit in the treehouse and use the light-switch by the back window to turn on the spotlights. You can sit there and watch for deer and raccoons. Deer often visit the salt lick down near the creek.”

“Treehouse?”

“That’s what we call the room off the dining room here. Mom and Greg added that room on a few years ago to let them better enjoy the view. The living room is over there, past the stairs. You couldn’t tell in the dark, but this house backs right up to the edge of a ravine and was built backwards on the lot so the living spaces overlook it. The treehouse is all windows across the back so you can watch all the wildlife. They’ve seen black bear, deer, flying squirrels and raccoons, all from the comfort of those swivel chairs by the window. There’s a spotlight on both corners of the room that light up different areas so you can see what’s out there.”

**Real house belonging to real people. I sat in my parent’s treehouse as I was writing the above.**

“It’s better than anything you’ll find on television,” Kathy said, coming back downstairs. She handed the portable CD player and headphones to Steve. “Try this tonight and see what you think.”

“Thank you, I will.”

The teakettle was getting ready to whistle and Megan turned off the stove before the sound woke Greg. Kathy got mugs out of the cupboard and fixed three cups of tea while Megan got out the food. She handed Steve the bottle of calcium supplements and set out a bag of sliced cheese, three plates, and a box of crackers. Together, they sat at the table and talked softly for few minutes until Megan started to yawn.

“I’m done in. I’ll see you in the morning,” she said before kissing Steve on the temple and hugging her mom goodnight. It was nice having the two halves of her life coming together. For the next day and a half, she wasn’t going to feel torn between her home and the new life she was building for herself. Important parts of both those world were under the same roof and she knew she’d sleep well tonight. It was good to be home.

 

**AN from the time I wrote this: Steve and Megan surprised me yet again with twists and developments I never envisioned when they insisted they wanted to share the details of the trip to Megan’s family. They’re sitting on the couch giving me smug “We told you so” looks. Even though I made it very clear to them where this story is to end, they keep pushing back and threatening to derail even that one firm plan. I have shown them the written ending and they both nod, make all the right noises, and continue to do whatever they want. I swear that herding cats is easer than getting these two to cooperate with me!**

**Present: I’m so very glad I followed their lead. Introducing Megan’s family gave me a whole new angle to explore in terms of Steve’s life and his adjustment to his new reality. His own experience of family was very different from Megan’s, with Bucky’s family being the closest thing he has to extended family. Modern Steve is very sad and lonely. Caring people like Greg and Kathy can’t help themselves; taking care of others is what they do. It’s good for Steve to have a non-work related emotional support system.**

*****

When Megan got up the next morning, Steve was making himself eggs and sausage in the kitchen while her mother sat at the dining room table reading the paper. “Good morning,” Megan said to both of them as she went over to Steve and ruffled his shower-damp hair. She decided it should be illegal to look that good in jeans and a t-shirt. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty well. The CD helped.” He sounded surprised.

“How are you healing?”

“I’ve stopped bleeding. If you can help me put a new bandage on my back, I’d appreciate it. The stitches keep catching on my shirt. You’re up early.”

Kathy chuckled. “Only Megan thinks ten in the morning is early.”

“It is! Only stupid people get up before noon.” She started her oatmeal cooking in the microwave and put a kettle of water on the stove to heat. “What time did you have your first breakfast?”

“About five.”

“You were up at five? I didn’t hear you.”

Steve turned and smiled at Kathy. “I can be quiet. I was worried that the smell of food cooking would wake you, though.”

“There are much worse ways to be wakened, I assure you.”

“I noticed that Greg likes to shut the door with emphasis on his way out.”

“You mean slam the door,” Megan corrected. “He shakes the whole house!”

“He insists he’s quiet,” Kathy added. “He claims he cannot lock it with a key from the outside, either. But then he turns around and does something so thoughtful I forgive him yet again.”

Steve nodded. “True love.”

“Yup,” Megan agreed and kissed him on the shoulder while she waited for her food to be ready.

**This discussion has been had in my house and my parents’ house. Closing the door “with emphasis” while other people are sleeping is not appreciated. It can be closed when the doorknob is locked, without the key. You can also lock it from the outside with the key. I have done both!**

They ate in comfortable silence, sharing sections of the local newspaper that was much thinner than Steve was accustomed to seeing. Megan had just fixed herself a second cup of tea when Steve’s phone alerted him to a new text message and he checked it without much thought. She watched a flash of pain flicker across his face before he set the phone down and went back to the newspaper.

“Steve?”

He looked over at her, his expression neutral. The tension in his shoulders is what gave him away.

“What’s wrong?”

“Agent Harris died from her injuries about an hour ago.”

“That’s what you get when you let women fight,” Megan said blandly.

“Megan!” Kathy said sharply.

Steve, however, didn’t flinch. “I was supposed to keep her safe.”

“If you didn’t lead from the rear and let your team go in first, it wouldn’t have happened.”

That got a reaction from him. “I don’t—.”

“Oh, so you were taking the lead in what you thought was the most dangerous position? What did you do when you realized you were wrong? Change course and fight your way to them? Get yourself shot twice while you tried to protect them?”

“She’s got your number, Steve.” Kathy said quietly, standing up. “I’m going to crawl back into bed and enjoy my lazy Saturday with a good book. Megan, your brother and his family will be getting here between two and three.”

Megan gave her mother a quick look of gratitude and turned her attention back to Steve. “If Agent Harris were here now, what would she tell you?”

“She already did,” Steve said softly, looking down. “Agents Clark and Gross were already dead when I got to them. Before she passed out, she said it wasn’t my fault.” His right hand was clenched in a fist and Megan could see he wanted to smash the table into several pieces. “But I should have—”

“Should have what? Known everything? Predicted everything?

“Kept them safe.”

“There is no safe.” Megan got up and went over to him, pulling Steve against her and running her hands though his hair. “Your team doesn’t expect that from you. What they do expect is your best effort, and you give that to them every time. You train, you plan, you learn from your mistakes, and you always do your best to get the job done with minimal risks.”

“That doesn’t give two kids their mother back.”

“No, it doesn’t. But she knew the risks and took the job anyway. They all did. How about the other two? Did they have children?”

Steve nodded. “Clark had a son in middle school. Gross had a daughter in kindergarten.”

“But that’s okay, because losing a father is easier than losing a mother.”

“How can you say—”

Megan put her finger on his lips and cut him off again. “You’re the product of your time, Steve. Don’t tell me it feels the same to you to lose a female agent as a male agent. A lot of people still have that reaction, that feeling that wars are for men to fight. Peggy taught you otherwise, but your heart and gut haven’t caught up to your brain. I’m just giving voice to what I know you’ve got inside your head right now.”

Steve sighed heavily and slumped down in his chair. “How do you do that?”

“Mom’s right. I’ve got your number. And you’re in no shape to run off your anger. So I suggest we move to the couch and you go with plan B.”

“Plan B?”

“A good cry. Why do you think my mom went back to bed? She’s giving you space to grieve.”

“I don’t work like that, Megan. I can’t just flip a switch.”

“You don’t need to. Come lie down and I’ll push your buttons. You’ll feel better for it.”

“I hate you right now.”

“I hate you, too.”

 

****

 

Kathy came back downstairs shortly before lunch and found the two of them sitting and looking out the window at the ravine. “Anything interesting happening out there?”

“Just the birds and squirrels at the moment,” Megan answered without turning around. She held Steve’s hand. As she’d promised, she’d helped him let go by first getting him to talk and then using her own voice to articulate the thoughts she knew were haunting him. He was still upset, naturally, but less on edge.

“Is this your sketchbook, Steve?” Kathy asked from the dining room behind them.

“Yes, I can move it—”

“No need. I wanted to know if I could look at it. Megan has told me about your work. But, if it’s too personal to share, I understand.”

Steve hesitated a moment and let out a deep breath, “Go ahead.”

Megan squeezed his hand in reassurance. She knew his drawings were very private, but she also knew her mother.

Kathy sat down on the couch in the treehouse and began to carefully page through the book  “These are breathtaking,” she said after several minutes. “Your natural optimism comes through in every one of them.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. His sketches were mostly of battles he’d fought and the horrors he’d seen. He often drew to process it all, not to put a happy spin on everything. “Why do you say that?” he asked as he swiveled the chair around to face Kathy.

“In every one of these pictures, you’re finding the good. Loyalty, protection, peace. Look at this one, for example.” She held up the page where he’d sketched Natasha. She was in full battle gear, a gun in both hands, crouched in front of the child she was protecting. The young girl was of African descent, barefoot, and wearing a torn dress. She couldn’t have been more than four years old. Her tiny hands were resting on Natasha’s shoulder and she was looking at Natasha with complete trust even though her face was streaked with tears. “In the midst of all of the danger, you captured the safety this child felt while this woman protected her.”

Kathy turned more pages. “I like this one, obviously.” She held it up. It was a sketch of Megan, sound asleep in her hospital bed. There was sunlight streaming in the window and framing her face. Despite the bandages and tubes, Megan looked peaceful.

“I hadn’t seen that one,” Megan said.

Kathy looked through the last of the sketches and closed the book. She held it carefully in her lap. “It takes a strong person to see the good in the midst of so much violence.”

“You’re very perceptive. Now I know where Megan gets it.”

Megan looked sideways at Steve. “I told you she would do well at S.H.I.E.L.D. Maybe she’s the key to figuring out Nick.”

His breath came out in a huff that sounded a bit like a chuckle. “No one can figure out Nick. Barton calls him the infinity onion.”

Megan snorted. “I’ve never heard a more perfect description. Mom has a point, though, which gives me an idea.”

“What?”

You should sketch each of the three agents lost on that mission and give them to their families. Find a moment to capture that you think shows who they were.”

“I didn’t know them very well. The teams change a lot depending on what we’re doing.”

“Then ask Hill to pull their files for you. Talk to agents who knew them better. It would help you process it and I know it would mean a lot to the families.”

“My sketches aren’t good enough for something like that. They’re just doodles to pass the time,” Steve protested.

“I agree with Megan. A personal gift like that would mean a lot. Even if they were just doodles—which they are not, but we can argue that later—the fact that you took the time to capture their essence and share it with their family would be a lovely gesture. When my mother died, people shared snippets of memories with me in their letters of condolence. Those snippets meant the world to me. In their stories, I could see my mother alive again, and I knew that others had seen her as she was. It was a great comfort to know that others had appreciated the person she was and wanted to share those memories with me. I didn’t care one bit that some of the words were misspelled or that the handwriting wasn’t perfect. The message is what brought me comfort.”

Steve looked over to Megan for her opinion and Megan nodded her agreement. “She said it better than I could. It wouldn’t take much to mount and frame them, either.

 

*****

 

“There’s someone out there watching the house.” Greg said from his seat in the treehouse.

“Where?” Megan asked, getting up from the couch where she had been reading a book.

Greg pointed. “Up at the top of the ravine, about as far west as you can see from here.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“Show me,” Steve asked, leaving his half-eaten sandwich at the table. Greg told him where to look. “It looks like they’re hiding in a hunting blind. You have good eyes, sir. Former military?”

“Current hunter. I learned how to read the forest before I learned to read books.”

“I’ll go check it out.” Steve took out his phone and sent a quick text before removing his arm from his sling. He tossed the fabric on the table. “What’s the best way to get across the ravine so I can circle behind without being seen?”

“Head east. About five houses up the hill from us, you’ll find a driveway leading back in. There’s a fellow who has his house built back from the road. You can take his driveway and make your way around the north edge of the ravine and come up from behind.

“Megan, if your brother gets here before I get back, keep your nephews inside,” Steve ordered.

“Will do. Did you bring hiking boots?”

“In my suitcase.”

“I’ll fetch them,” she said dashing upstairs. She returned soon after with his boots and shield.

Kathy looked from Megan to Steve and back again. “What’s going on?”

“That’s what I intend to find out.” Steve said. Megan could see him switching into Captain America mode. He bent down and tied the laces to his boots without any indication that the movements caused him discomfort or that the cast limited his use of his left hand. Megan knew better, but didn’t say anything, nor did she undermine his act by offering to tie the laces for him. 

“You’re injured. We could just call the police.” Kathy protested.

“I can be up there and back before the police arrive, ma’am. I’m okay, really. I’ve hiked a lot farther in worse shape than this.” He turned to Megan. “Do you have your phone?”

“It’s downstairs.”

“I’ll text you once I know what’s going on. Stay inside with the doors locked until I get back.” He took his shield from her and slipped it over his cast with practiced ease. After giving her a quick kiss, he vanished out the door. Megan noticed in amusement that he avoided slamming the door even though she had seen him lock it from the inside before pulling it closed behind him. It could be done, though Greg would never agree.

Megan avoided her mother’s questioning look and went downstairs to get her phone. “Academy award performance in three, two, one..” she muttered to herself as he came back up the stairs and closed the basement door. “Anyone want tea? I’m going to put the water on.”

“No, thank you,” Greg answered. He was watching their observer with a pair of binoculars.

“Megan, why is Steve so worried that he’s going out there by himself?”

“He’s always hyper vigilant. Agent Harris’ death this morning just has him more on edge than usual.”

“And?”

“And let’s see what he finds out before we jump to conclusions,” Megan hedged. Her phone beeped. “Stark employee per Jarvis. Still checking it out,” the text read.

Greg let out a low whistle. “Wow, he’s fast.”

“Where is he?” Kathy asked, her voice low.

“Up top, he’s just a shadow moving across the horizon. I doubt you can see him since he’s hidden by the trees. I can’t believe he’s up there already. I thought you said yesterday he’d been shot in the leg.”

“He was,” Kathy answered. “I still don’t see anything.”

Megan stayed in the kitchen, out of her mother’s current line of sight, and busied herself doing dishes rather than joining them at the window to watch. It wasn’t long before her phone beeped again. “Steve says everything is fine,” she told her parents as she dried the last measuring cup in the strainer and put it away.

“They’re talking,” Greg added.

“I still don’t see them.”

“Steve’s heading straight for us. I guess that fellow is moving on. He’s already taking the blind down.”

“I see Steve now, but why is he running?” Kathy wondered. “Look at that, Greg. You and I struggle to walk up that hill and he makes running up it look as easy as walking on the level.”

“He’s used to running several miles a day.” Megan explained as she went to unlock the door to let Steve back inside. He’s probably just stretching his legs while he can since he knows I’ll be on his case if he goes out again before he heals.” She greeted him with a kiss. “Mom’s already suspicious,” she added very softly as she took his shield from him. “I’ll put this back upstairs. Feel better after your little sprint?”

“I do.” He pressed his forehead to hers, mindful of Megan’s parents watching them. “You worry too much.”

“Uh huh. Says the man who likes to emulate Swiss cheese. Put your sling back on your arm before I use this shield to knock some sense into your thick skull.”

“Hit my right side, please, so my eyes match.”

“What did that man have to say?” Greg asked, watching the exchange between Megan and Steve with some amusement.

“Some rich guy from New York City bought the house next door to you. Apparently, that fellow in the blind is part of a security team that was hired to keep watch on the goings on in the surrounding area. He never expected anyone to notice him. Most people wouldn’t have seen him and he’s quite embarrassed that you did.”

“Wait a minute.” Kathy said. “This sounds fishy. Why would someone from New York City buy the house next door to us? This is the middle of nowhere from their perspective.”

**Tony Stark would, not that Steve is going to tell her that! It was a real challenge for me to come up with an explanation that Steve would realistically use, but that would also get Kathy to stop thinking about it. Of course, Steve decided to “help” me out by adding his bombshell announcement, and that did the trick where Kathy was concerned.**

Steve shrugged his good shoulder. “The only rich people I’ve known tend to be very eccentric. Howard Stark was brilliant, but definitely eccentric. His son Tony’s just like him. Maybe it goes with having money. Whoever bought the house wanted security around. I guess if you’re rich like that, you get to be a bit paranoid, too. That fellow promised me they’d be more discreet and not cause you any trouble. I texted a friend with connections and they said the story is legit from what they can find on their end.”

“Come finish your sandwich.” Megan directed, trying to bring the focus back to mundane matters.

“Megan Louisa Buchwald, stop trying to distract me,” Kathy said.

Megan gave Steve a panicked look while keeping her back to her mother. “I told you, she’s like a blood hound when she gets an idea in her head.”

Steve nodded once and she saw a twinkle in his eye. He put his good arm around her and turned her to face her parents. “We didn’t want to say anything just yet since it’s not official. But Megan and I have been having some serious talks about getting married.”

Megan tried to turn her shock at his answer into a believable reaction. “We agreed we weren’t going to say anything yet!” she squealed, turning around to gape at Steve. Of all the things she’d thought he’d say, that was _not_ one of them. It was a brilliant distraction, but one she hadn’t been prepared for.

“I know,” he said before he kissed her forehead. “But it’s better we tell her than let her worry, don’t you think?” He turned his attention to Megan’s parents. “Like I said, it’s not official, but that’s probably what you’re picking up on.”

“Wow,” Kathy said looking from one to the other before glancing at Greg. “I knew you were close but…”

“Go ahead and finish your sandwich, Steve,” Greg suggested. “Kathy, breathe.” He looked at Megan with knowing eyes, and Megan could have sworn he was helping her distract her mother from talk of their new neighbor.

**Greg is one of those people who watches and sees more than he lets on. I love how he often stays in the background but is so clearly present.**

The tea kettle whistled and Megan went to turn off the stove burner.

“I guess both being famous and having your job bring some risks with them.” Greg said, joining Steve at the table. “Megan, dear, will you bring me a mug of hot water and the instant coffee when you come sit down?”

“Yes, sir, they do. Keeping Megan safe is a top priority for me.”

“That’s why you wanted to go check that man out by yourself.” Greg said.

Steve nodded. “As the battle against the Chitauri in New York showed, there are some things that regular law enforcement just isn't equipped to deal with. And that is only one of several things Megan has to think about very carefully before we decide on making this permanent.”

“We’d be thrilled to have you join our family, Steve,” Kathy said, taking a seat at the table as she made a valiant effort to regain her composure. “But I have to ask if isn’t this awfully soon for you, Megan?”

“He knows all about Randy, Mom, and yes, it’s too soon and too sudden. Not to mention Steve is still dealing with losing Peggy.”

“Peggy?” Kathy looked confused.

“Steve’s girlfriend during World War II.” Megan explained. “When he put the plane into the frozen north Atlantic he saved untold lives. He also gave up his chance at a life with Peggy Carter, who went on after Steve’s apparent death to help found S.H.I.E.L.D. She’s in her ninety’s now and in a nursing home with Alzheimer’s disease.”

“Oh, my, that’s so sad. That must have been such a shock for you,” Kathy said, looking at Steve in sympathy.

“It was. Some days, it still is. But Megan has helped with that, probably even more than she knows.”

Steve gave her such a sincere and loving look it brought tears to her eyes. She found herself getting swept up in the narrative and distracted from the dangers Steve was trying to shield her family from. Damn, he was a smooth talker and very good at lying with the truth. She handed the coffee and mug of water to her step-dad and sat down beside Steve at the table. “Even if we do get engaged, Steve is insisting on a long engagement. He has some old-fashioned notions about courting me properly.”

“And you’re enjoying every minute of it.” Steve pointed out before he kissed her knuckles.

“Yup,” She said with a grin. “Though I can’t help but point out that I’m older than he is and that goes very much against the traditions of his time.”

“I’m turning ninety-five this summer, and at that age, I think I get to make my own rules.”

 


	6. C20-25 Confessions to Red, White, and Blue

“What happened to your eye, Mr. Steve? Did Megan beat you up?” Keith asked.

Steve shook his head. “Megan knows it’s not nice to hit people. I was hurt protecting a police officer from the bad guys.”

“Was Iron Man there?” Keith asked. “I think Iron Man’s the coolest cause he can fly.”

Megan smiled into her hand as she watched the scene from the tree house window. Steve and her two nephews were outside “S’ploring,” as Christopher liked to call it. Steve was sitting on his shield and keeping watch over the two boys. They were close enough for their conversation to be heard inside the house. On request, he threw small stones across the ravine against the far bank at an improvised target the boys had set up, cheered on by his two new fans. Her nephews’ job was to go fetch stones from the bottom of the ravine and bring them to Steve to throw. Megan knew it wouldn’t take too many trips before their young legs became exhausted, which was probably exactly what Steve intended.

 

**I have borrowed heavily from my own mom’s parenting of my younger brothers. She believed that tired kids (like dogs) are well behaved kids. Physical tasks to wear them out are the cure to excess rowdiness inside. I can’t count the times the kiddos were sent out to run laps around the house. After dark, she’d turn the porch light on and count laps. They came back inside feeling a lot better about sitting down and doing things appropriate to the indoors.**

**The grandkids, when rowdy on visits, have been sent oustide to run laps around the new “ravine house.” She paid a nickel per lap at one point. The ravine is real and quite steep. My stepdad ran a rope between several trees starting at the top behind the house and that a tremendous help when trying to climb back up when the ground is wet, especially with wet leaves everywhere. In the winter, the kids slide down that path on their butts, wearing snowpants. Sleds would be dangerous.**

**Steve is taking advantage of the landscape to wear the boys out. He and Bucky grew up in a time when kids invented games based on what was available, so using rocks to invent a game comes naturally to him.**

 

 

 

“No, Iron Man wasn’t there. I sure could have used his help. I think he’s in California right now.”

Christopher tugged on his sleeve, “Mr. Steve, throw this one. Can Hawkeye’s arrows shoot as far as you’re throwing those stones?”

Steve nodded. “His arrows go even farther and he never misses. Do you know why?”

Christopher shook his head.

“Because he practices every single day. That’s his homework.” Steve threw the stone and hit the target, as he had nearly every other time they’d handed him a projectile. The kids didn’t seem to believe what they were seeing and tried their best to emulate him, but with far less impressive results.

“He’s amazing with them. When did he learn how to deal with kids so well?” Kathy said from her spot beside Megan. “I like him, Megan. I really do.”

“Me, too. He’s a natural with kids. He told me once that talking with the children was the one part of the U.S.O. tours he actually enjoyed. He goes to the children’s hospital about once a month in full uniform to cheer up the kids. They try to pick up his shield to pose behind it and end up hiding the bottom part of their faces in the pictures because their arms aren’t long enough to fit the straps. He’s a good man.”

“Have you met the other Avengers?” Carl wanted to know. He and Stephanie had not said much since their arrival but Megan was used to that. They both preferred to watch what was going on rather than participate.

 

**Carl is Stephanie are loosely modeled on my brother and his wife. He is on the autism spectrum and she has issues, too. They do they best they can, but their lives are sometimes hard to watch. At least Steve has money to throw at the problem. I added them because it’s important to me to include people with challenges into the backgrounds of my stories. Society wants them to be invisible. But they are real people and need to be seen.**

 

“Just the Black Widow. I have seen Hawkeye in the hallways at work but we haven’t been introduced. They work in a different part of a building than I’m usually in.”

“You sure live in a different world than you did in college.” Kathy shook her head in wonder. “Are you happy living down near D.C.?”

“Parts of it. Everything is so expensive and the traffic gets to me. Life is just so much faster down there. I don’t like that. But Steve found a stable for me to go riding at and is going to drive me out there every Saturday starting next week. I love walking around the National Mall in the evening, watching the sunset while I look at the monuments. The free museums are nice, too, but I never seem to get to visit them. I’m pretty busy with work. By the time you add in the commute, it’s almost a twelve hour day between when I roll out of bed and when I get home. D.C. life has pros and cons just like anything else. Career wise, the area is full of opportunities for me. Whether or not I stay is going to depend on a lot of things, but it’s definitely been good for me to give it a try, at least for now. I don’t want to move further away from you guys and there are a lot of biotech opportunities between D.C. and Frederick, Maryland. If I ever leave S.H.I.E.L.D. it would put me a bit closer to home to move to that side of the city.”

“His shield looks like a sled when he’s sitting on it.” Carl observed when he came over to the window to watch.

“Yes, it does. That’s a good observation, Carl.” Megan smiled. “He probably has used it as a sled at some point, mostly likely with his best friend Bucky egging him on.”

“Is he really ninety years old?”

“According to when he was born he’s ninety-four. But his body was in suspended animation like you see in the movies, Carl. If you go by how long he’s been experiencing life and skip the years he was in the ice, he’s turning 29 on June 21st.

Carl thought a minute. “So it’s like he’s our age? That’s why were having a birthday party for him even though it’s not his real birthday?”

Kathy nodded. “That’s right, honey.”

“That’s confusing.” Carl said.

“It’s confusing for him, too.” Megan added. “Imagine what you’d feel like if you went to bed tonight and when you got up tomorrow you were told you’d really been asleep for seventy years? That’s what happened to Steve.”

“He sure missed a lot of birthdays.”

“He missed a lot of things, Carl. A lot of things.”

 

****

 

It pleased Megan immensely to watch Steve seamlessly fit himself into her family over the course of the day. Dinner was simple, just spaghetti, salad, and garlic bread, but the conversation was lively and shifted easily from one topic to another. Megan could tell Steve was truly relaxed and enjoying himself in a way she hadn’t seen before. He was completely at ease and seemed to be soaking up the feelings of being with a normal family living a normal life. It occurred to her, as she watched him surreptitiously, that he probably hadn’t had anything like this since he was a child. Even then, it would have been just Steve and his mother and not his larger gathering. She wanted to promise him he could have this forever, but it wasn’t her place.

He caught her watching him and gave her a soft smile, so open and joyous it just melted her heart again. He nodded slightly, as if in answer to her train of thought. It probably was, she decided, given how well they’d gotten to know each other. He reached under the table and squeezed her hand.

Greg brewed another pot of coffee while Megan and Kathy cleared the dishes away. Steve got up to help only to be ordered back to his seat, kept there with gentle digs at being one handed and therefore worthless in the kitchen. Carl teased him about being too old to do chores and Steve hammed it up, sensing how big of an accomplishment it was for Carl to both come up with the joke and to feel comfortable enough around Steve to say it. Stephanie, in her typical way, just sat on the couch holding Andrew and pouting that she wasn’t the center of attention.

 

**Bonus to including my SIL: I get to vent my spleen at her behavior in a way I cannot do to her face. :-) She cannot help some of her problems and she won’t change the behaviors I find unacceptable. So I invented Stephanie, magnified the worst, and let loose. We all have someone like her in our extended family.**

 

“Did Megan warn you of my obsession with baking?” Kathy asked as she wiped down the table.

Steve nodded. “She did mention something along those lines.”

“Good. I took several classes on cake decorating and I use every chance I can get to practice what I’ve learned. That’s the fun of retirement. You just happen to be my latest victim. We know it’s not your actual birthday, but since you won’t be here for it, we’re going to celebrate today.” She disappeared into the laundry room and returned shortly thereafter carrying a rectangular cake ablaze with candles, “I’m still learning, but you’ll get the idea,” she said as she set it down on the table.

The whole family sang happy birthday and Carl took pictures while Steve blew out the candles. Kathy lit some of them again so that Christopher and Keith could each have a turn blowing them out, and then Steve finally had a minute to really look at the cake. Kathy had cut the sheet cake into the shape of a painter’s palette, then added a rainbow of fondant “paints” around the edges. The red, white, silver, and blue paints seemed to run spontaneously towards the center, mixing themselves into Captain America’s shield. Beside the shield, a licorice stick had been modified to resemble a paintbrush with it’s tip in the yellow paint.

“This is amazing.” He shook his head slightly and Megan could see his eyes getting a bit moister than usual. “I’ve never had a birthday cake before. Thank you.” With that, he got up and went to give Kathy a  one-armed hug.

“What? Never? Oh, honey,” Kathy said, accepting the embrace with tears in her eyes.

“It’s just how it was back then,” Steve explained. “Mother worked hard just to make enough for us to eat and get me the medicine. A whole cake was out of the question. She made me muffins or a loaf of banana bread on my birthday and made sure we had some meat for dinner. The depression didn’t help, either, when it hit.”

Kathy stepped back and put her hands on Steve’s shoulders. “She did a fine job raising you, that’s for sure. I’m certain that she would be very, very proud of you.”

“Thank you, ma’am” Steve said softly, his voice breaking.

Megan wiped her own eyes with the back of her hand. “Did you get some pictures of the cake, Mom? Steve’s right, it’s amazing. It’s almost a shame to cut it up to eat it.”

“Yes, I took pictures, but take some more if you want to. And you’d better eat it. If we leave it all to Christopher and Keith, we’ll be peeling them off the ceiling once the sugar hits their system.”

Megan and Steve both used their phones to snap several more photographs of the cake close up.

“Who wants ice cream?” Greg asked as head headed to the freezer.

“Ice cream, too?” Steve seemed overwhelmed.

“Sit down, birthday boy. The depression is over.” Megan stood behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. “Just wait until you open your presents.”

“Megan…”

She leaned down and spoke into his ear, keeping her voice low so only he could hear her. “You’re not the only one who gets to plan surprises, you know. Just go with it. It’s from all of us, okay?”

She felt him relax a bit under her hands and he nodded, trusting that she wouldn’t let things get out of hand.

Greg laid two packages down in front of him and stepped back.

Megan gave his right shoulder a gentle squeeze. “No one is going to reuse the paper, so you may as well rip it off and act like a kid for once.. Bending low, she murmured to him, “Put another way, if you open them without tearing any of the paper, I’ll break all of your fingers.”

“I had no idea you were so inclined to violence.” Steve looked at the two boys watching him. “Do you want to help me?”

They both nodded eagerly and Steve let them each pick a package to open. Christopher went first, revealing a large book.“Isn’t this the book you looked for that day we went shopping?”

“That’s the one.”

He flipped through the pages and immediately saw he was going to enjoy reading it and learn a lot in the process He set it aside with reluctance. “I think I know what I’m going to be reading this week. Thank you.”

Keith barely was able to contain himself, but waited until Steve nodded encouragement before opening the second package, which was a large, flat box. Inside the box was a package of oil pastels, pastel paper, and a note stating he had four pre-paid lessons scheduled with the instructor whose contact information was listed.

“What’s in the little box?” Keith asked. Steve opened the lid and showed him the soft pastels, causing Keith to furrow his brow. “Grown up crayons?”

“Pretty much, yes.” Steve agreed. “And lessons on using them.” He shook his head in wonder. “This is too much. Thank you. All of you.”

Kathy smiled at him. “It’s the least we can do after what you’ve done for Megan. We started asking her what we could possibly get you after you stayed with her in the hospital. I talked to the art teacher at my former school and she suggested soft pastels would be a logical next step for someone who’d mainly done charcoal sketching and wanted to try something new. She recommended this instructor she knows who is starting to offer lessons via Skype. That will give you a flexible schedule rather than being committed to a class on a college campus. She said four lessons should be enough for you to know if you like the medium or not.”

“I’m overwhelmed.” Megan could tell he was itching to retreat to a quiet spot so he could try them out and read his book. He was far too polite to indulge, but she was happy that their gift was something he really appreciated.

“Can we eat the cake now?” Christopher asked.

The resulting laughter released some of the tension Megan felt building in Steve’s shoulders. He wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of things. She could hardly wait to see his reaction to what she had planned for him come August. “You okay?” she asked, leaning down to whisper to him.

He nodded and kissed her temple. “Better than you can imagine. You family is wonderful, and so are you.”

**After retirement, my mom found someone to take lessons with online (via Skype) and discovered the world of oil pastels. She’s a self-taught artist and has dabbled in many mediums in her life, including oils, acrylics, wood crafts, and cake decorating. (She also sews and made sure I learned.). Given Steve’s love of art, I figured her oil pastel lessons would make a great gift for him and let him play with color in a new medium.**

 

****

 

It was nearly ten before they were alone. Megan’s brother and his family had finally left at around nine, on Kathy’s insistence, so they could get the kids to bed. Greg and Kathy had stayed up a bit longer to talk, then retired upstairs with claims of fatigue from all the excitement of several rounds of Farkle. It had been a new game for Steve, but one he obviously enjoyed as they all played together with lots of laughing, teasing, and helping Christopher with his math when it was his turn. Now the house was silent aside from the hum of the refrigerator. The house was dark save for a light on over the stove as they sat together looking down into the ravine. He turned on the spotlights and pulled Megan onto his lap.

**Farkle and Canasta are popular games for my family. Farkle is fun for a large group and fast moving enough that the younger kids don’t get bored. Canasta is something my grandmother taught me and I have many memories of playing cards with her. My own son is now a bit of a Canasta addict.**

“Do you know how lucky you are?” He kept his voice low.

“I do. That’s the thing I hate most about living as far away as I do. I know how lucky I am to have them and I miss being able to see them as often as I want. Skype and email aren’t the same as being here.”

“At least you’re not in California or some other far away place.”

“Why do you think I picked D.C.? This will always be home to me. I put down roots and I sink them deep. No matter where else I live, a part of me is always going to be connected to this place because it’s where my family is. My great grandfather used to say home was where he hung his hat. I’m not like that.”

“That’s not a bad thing.”

“No, it’s not. It’s just how I am. Is holding me hurting your leg too much?”

“No, it’s okay.” He put his head on her shoulder as a dear stepped into view. They watched three doe explored the salt lick. Occasionally, they’d lift their heads and swivel their ears, listening for danger before lowering their heads once more to the salt block on the platform. “After Mother died, Bucky was my home.”

“I know.” Megan ran her fingers through his hair as she thought about the day. “Every time I think I have a handle on what your life was like before, something happens and I find out I still don’t get it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t imagine not having a birthday cake. That was just standard for me growing up. Mom would invite some of my playmates and we’d play games in the yard and have cake and ice cream, so I just assumed that you must have had something like that, too. It’s not the cake that matters, because your mother made you feel special and loved, which is the whole point. But I keep discovering new flaws in my assumptions and it’s jarring.”

“You just described my life in reverse. I keep thinking I have this new time figured out only to discover I don’t.”

Megan nodded. “It’s not fair. I know life isn’t fair, but I want it to be fair sometimes.”

“Me, too.” He sighed. “How upset will your parents be when they find out?”

“They’ll understand. Earlier tonight, when you are outside with the boys, Mom said if we break up, she and Greg get to pick which one of us they get to keep. She implied they might pick you.”

Steve chuckled. “I don’t think you have to worry given how much they love you.” His voice grew serious. “I just can’t keep pretending this isn’t real.”

“Hey, I warned you, remember? Feelings follow actions. It’s okay.”

“But I’m falling in love with you for real.” His voice was pained.

**It was a lot of fun to set these two up and see if it became real. It did, and they seem well suited to each other. But like Megan said, they’re healing, too. That’s really important. They are both damaged and suffering and finally, they are starting to move forward from that.**

She took his face in her hands. His eyes were shining, or maybe hers were. It was hard to tell. “I am, too, with you I mean. If it’s meant to be, fine. If it doesn’t go the distance after the dust settles, we still come out ahead because we’re both doing a lot of healing right now. You’re really starting to live in the present and I’m getting over the damage my self-esteem suffered with Randy. We started as friends; we’re going to stay friends. Just don’t pull that lying with the truth crap with me, okay? It was kind of scary, watching you in full ‘Captain America keeping everyone safe by lying without lying mode.’ I want truth-truth.”

“I promise.”

“Good. For now, let’s just enjoy it for what it is. We have time.”

“Peggy and I thought that, too. We were wrong.”

“Would rushing ahead have made it better? Would your death have been easier for her to deal with had you been married before you took off in that plane? Would you miss her less knowing exactly what you had lost?”

“I guess not. It’s just… I don’t know.”

“It’s not fair.” Megan brushed the hair back from his eyes. “You know better than anyone that bad things happen without warning. All we can do is make the most of the time we have. Rushing doesn’t let us appreciate the present, either.”

“You sound like Peggy.”

She bent so their foreheads were touching. “When two women you love tell you the same thing, maybe you should listen, hmm?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

*****

“G’morning, Mom,” Megan mumbled as she opened the basement door. “Did you sleep okay?”

“After a bit. Greg and I were up rather late talking,” her mother said from where she was sitting at the dining room table.

“Everything okay?” Megan asked, trying to ignore the queasy knot forming in her stomach. There was something extra in her mother’s voice that had her on alert. It was too early for her to manage this kind of head game.

“Yes, but I want to talk to you about a decision Greg and I came to. Come sit down.”

“Mom, I need food. I need caffeine. I’m barely awake. Can you give me ten minutes?” Megan tried not to sound like she was begging even though that’s exactly what she was doing. She took the tea kettle to the sink to fill. 

“Okay, but don’t wait too long. I want to talk to you before Steve and Greg get back.”

Megan put the kettle on to heat, cursing the early hour under her breath. She was so tired. “Where are they?”

“Out at the pond. Or at breakfast, whichever they did first. But they left at about five-thirty and it’s already after ten. I expect them to get back any minute.”

She felt her hands getting clammy. “Please tell me Greg isn’t giving him the shovel talk.”

“I have no idea what that is.”

“The ‘I have a shovel and nearly forty acres of woodland, so if you hurt Megan, they’ll never find the body’ talk often given by overprotective family members. Nothing is official yet. We’re just talking.” Why had Steve told them about their discussions of marriage last night? “I need use the bathroom,” she mumbled, not even waiting to hear her Kathy’s answer. This was bad. Had they figured out that she and Steve were not as serious as they’d implied? It seemed unlikely. They were both falling for each other so one could hardly accuse them of bad acting. Had they figured out that the security guy yesterday was there to protect them? Or worse, had they received a threat of some sort and finally connected it to Steve and Megan?

Megan studied her image in the mirror and wanted the person looking back to give her answers. Instead, she saw a bleary-eyed non-morning person trying to wake up. She wanted Steve to be back now. Or never… so she could stay in the bathroom and hide for the next year.

 

****

 

Exactly twelve minutes later, Megan fixed her second cup of tea and sat down across from her mother. She decided that she’d say as little as possible and keep her mother talking. That way, she’d have less chance of saying too much. “What’s going on?”

“Greg and I plan to adopt Steve.”

“What? It’s early, Mom. Don’t talk in riddles.”

“He needs a family. Whether or not you two get married, we want him to feel he can come visit us any time he wants and spend holidays here if he chooses. He’s going to get nagging calls from me reminding him to take his vitamins and eat his vegetables. That man broke my heart last night with the way he was so happy just to join us for dinner and a game. His friends from the army are all dead, his first girlfriend has Alzheimer’s, and he has no living family to speak of. No one should be that alone and we’re not going to let it continue. Greg’s talking to him and showing him the property out at the pond so Steve can go there any time he wants to get away. He’s also giving him a key to the house. If you two break up, you’ll just have to schedule your visits at different times or learn to play nice when you’re both here.

“Isn’t this all too sudden and too soon?” Megan asked softly.

“Touché.” Kathy pinned Megan with her eyes and she felt like she was five years old again, unable to move or speak after talking back to her mom and getting reprimanded for it. “I’m glad Steve is insisting on a long engagement, if there is an engagement, and I think you are, too. He’s right about his point that there are a lot of extra things you both need to consider seriously. Greg and I totally agree. But darn it if he doesn’t get under your skin like a tick spreading Lyme disease. Before you know it, he’s past your defenses. Worst of all, he’s so genuinely good and honest about everything, you don’t even care you lowered your guard. I don’t think he has a deceptive bone in his body.”

“Mom, he’s human. He has flaws just like the rest of us, including an overinflated sense of responsibility for everything that happens. He knows how to lie and I’ve watched him do it. He’s overprotective, terrible about talking about his feelings, and thinks riding a motorcycle is the best way to travel, although he does wear a helmet and bought me one so I’d do the same. He’s neat to the point of being anal and so private about some things I don’t think he’ll ever let me in. Do you realize that after all this time, I’ve still never been to his apartment? Not even once. So don’t put him on a pedestal. He’s a guy with a WHY chromosome who suffers from testosterone poisoning just like the rest of them.”

“And you love him.”

“That, too.”

“I’m glad you cleared that up,” Greg said as he opened the door and came in, followed by Steve.

Megan just put her forehead on down on the table and whimpered softly.

“Megan? Your dad and I caught a bunch of bass. You never showed me how you cook fish.” Steve said as he toed off his shoes.

“Fish are friends, not food.” Megan mumbled, banging her head on the table again.

“Sorry, Dory, but I like fish.” Steve told her in that perpetually upbeat and cheerful tone that was positively grating at this hour of the morning. “Want to come help me clean them?”

“No, I do not want to dissect your damn fish for you. I want to go back to bed and sleep until a respectable hour.” Megan pulled herself up with a sigh and went over to Steve. _Can you believe this? I’m happy for you, but can you believe this!?_ She asked with her eyes as she leaned into him for a much needed hug.

She could practically read the thought balloon over his head. _No, I can’t. I like your parents but this is unreal._

**Kathy and Greg are the “what you see is what you get” type of people I just love. They recognize Steve’s loneliness and decided to fix it. There are lots of real people in the world just like them and they make the world better in a very quiet but powerful way. They don’t save the world, they just try to do the right thing and make their own little neighborhood a bit better.**

_****_

Steve and Greg feasted on grilled fish for lunch while Kathy and Megan ate leftovers from the night before. The meal was followed by several rounds of card games, including canasta and 500 bid. While they played, Megan kept teasing Steve with her feet under the table. She was pretty sure her parents were oblivious, but pretending not to notice a game of footsie worked just as well. As long as Steve kept smiling like he had been all day, she’d be satisfied. As exhausted and beaten down as he had been on Friday, he seemed to be rested and recharged now. Nothing had changed about the challenges they faced, but getting away had done them both a lot of good.

“I’m going to put an apple pie in the oven,” Kathy said, getting up from the table to turn on the oven when it was Greg’s turn to deal for the next hand.

“Mom, we still have cake left.”

Kathy shook her head. “You’re taking that with you. Are you going to argue too, Steve?”

“I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life, but turning down homemade apple pie isn’t one of them.”

“Says the man who jumps out of an airplane without a parachute,” Megan muttered under her breath.

“What?” Greg asked, looking up sharply from the cards he was shuffling.

Steve shrugged. “Only over water and only when we’re coming in low enough. If I can dive alongside the ship and climb on board before the rest of the team, I reduce their risks. Even at night, ’chutes can make good targets.” He looked at Megan. “How did you hear?”

“I’m not telling.”

Kathy put one hand on her hip as she looked at Steve. “Why do I get the impression you gave your mother grey hair from the time you learned to walk?”

He just grinned and shook his head. “I don’t think she had any idea of half the stuff Bucky and I got up to.”

“I doubt that,” Greg said. “She probably just didn’t want to say anything. It’s much more fun if you think you’re getting away with something.”

“You would know, dear.” Kathy said before she headed downstairs to get a pie from the freezer.

**My mom does this. I rarely make pie, but she taught my husband how to make her apple pie and he does he teaching justice. In the basement freezer, she always has an apple pie or two ready to go into the oven. For somone like Steve, who probably grew up without an ice box, having a pie ready to go must seem like riches.**

Steve smiled at Megan, was clearly enjoying the loving banter between her parents as much as she was. He got up to refill his water. As he stood by the refrigerator sipping his water, he asked, “How about you, Megan? You’ve never told me what antics you got up to as a child.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have nothing to share. I was the perfect, boring child.”

“No one is that well behaved.”

“Ask Mom.”

“Ask me what?” Kathy said as she came back upstairs. 

“Steve doesn’t believe was I was the perfect, boring child.”

“She really was. She made think all the expert parenting books were right. When she was just a toddler, I didn’t have to childproof. I’d tell her the outlet was hot and she left it alone. There was a period of time when I felt pretty smug about my parenting skills. Then her brother came along and showed me how little I knew. Rebellion for Megan was reading under her covers with a flashlight after bedtime. It all balances out in the end, though. Now I get to worry about her begin attacked by strangers and left for dead in the street.”

“Mom, I’m okay.”

“This time. I’m not saying I want you to give up your dreams, Megan. I’m saying I worry.”

“To excess, if you ask me,” Greg added. “If you don’t have something to worry about, you worry about that!”

“I can’t help it. But you have to give me credit for not clipping your wings as a result.”

“I do, Mom. Will it make you feel better to know I’m learning self defense?”

“Actually, yes. It won’t protect you in every situation, but it will improve your odds. But isn’t it hard for you to fit a class in by the time you get home?”

Megan shook her head. “There’s a gym on the S.H.I.E.L.D. campus. Unfortunately for me, that means I get to train every day.” She winked at Steve when he looked over at her after checking his watch.

“Speaking of work, what time do you want to leave?” he asked.

“Never. But we should probably head out by three or so. We need to go down to Morgantown and pick up 68 so we don’t get caught in any Sunday evening gridlock in Breezewood. It’s a prettier drive, but a bit longer and with fewer places to stop. We can get dinner in Hancock and be home around nine.”

Steve nodded his agreement and sat back down at the table.

“I wish you weren’t so far away,” Kathy mused.

“I know, Mom, but it could be a lot worse. If I were down in Research Triangle Park, it would be a lot harder to get home for a weekend visit. California would be worse yet. Do you guys think you’ll be able to make it down this summer?”

“I think so. It will be nice to see where you’ve settled.”

“I hear there’s a new temporary exhibit opening in July in the Air and Space museum,” Greg said blandly while looking pointedly Steve.

“Not my idea. And the disagreements about who owns my stuff have been a bit frustrating, too.”

“Do you have any lawyers working on your behalf?” Greg wanted to know.

“Stark does. Without his help, I think they’d try to put me on exhibit, too.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Opening weekend is going to be a lot of miserable P.R. I may as well be back in the U.S.O.”

**I put the problem of how to help Steve cope with that exhibit to Kathy and Greg. You know there was no way Steve could ever get out of the opening of the exhibit, even though it wasn’t shown in the movie. Given how much Steve hates the spotlight, I imagined he loathed the idea of the whole event. I rather liked Kathy’d solution. .**

Kathy sat down after putting the pie in the oven and picked up her hand of cards to examine. “Is there any way you can take back control of their agenda without asking?”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked looking at his own cards. He sorted them quickly.

“Well, Megan said you went to the children’s hospital now and then to visit the kids there. What if some of the stronger ones or those that have been able to go home since you last saw them got their own tour of the exhibit with you? It would take some of the focus off you and give them some extra attention. The press would love it. If you can set it up without the involvement of the politicians ahead of time, all the better. Let them be surprised when they’re pushed out of the spotlight by a bunch of children. What are they going to do about it? They know they don’t dare complain about seriously ill kids where the press can overhear them. If they do, they can kiss any hopes of reelection good-bye.”

“You are a devious woman, Kathy,” Greg said as he smiled at her. “I like the idea. But that sort of thing is going to require a lot of logistical planning for both the hospital and the museum. Do you have someone who can help them coordinate it that can also keep it secret?”

“Jarvis.” Megan and Steve both said as they looked at each other. Steve put down his cards and pulled out his phone.

“Jarvis, I have a favor to ask,” he said as he got up to pace.

“Jarvis?” Greg looked at Megan questioningly.

“An employee with Stark Industries who is extraordinarily gifted at anything involving computers or planning. From what I can tell, if you ask Jarvis to do something, it just happens. It’s like magic,” Megan explained, keeping her voice low so as to avoid interfering with Steve’s phone call. “It’s a good idea, Mom. He’s going to dread that all a lot less now that he’s taken control of it a bit.”

**Jarvis and Stark’s checkbook are easy to overuse, I admit. But darn it, having those two resources available solves So Many Problems when it comes to story telling. I understand why so many of us outsource these things to them and move on. :-)**

****

 

“Maybe we’ll take them next time,” Megan told Steve when the game was over. Despite playing multiple games, they had been unable to beat Greg and Kathy at five-hundred bid.

“When they come down to D.C.,” he agreed, eating his last bite of pie. “You are welcome to stay at my place. I have a spare bedroom and live pretty close to the Metro. It would spare you the expense of a hotel room, too.”

Megan watched her parents hold a discussion with their eyes. It always fascinated her how they could do that without saying a word. Kathy was hesitating, obviously remembering what Megan had told her earlier about Steve being very private. But Greg and Steve had not come inside yet, so Megan didn’t think he knew she had never been to Steve’s apartment. Even so, Greg seemed to know what his wife was thinking and was leaving it up to her, though he somehow made his preference known.

“I mean it,” Steve told both of them. “I’ll make sure Megan has a key in case I’m sent out on a mission.”

Kathy nodded, apparently conceding to Greg’s view. “Okay, we’ll do that.”

“Good.” He looked at Megan, who sighed.

“I know, it’s getting to be that time.” She sighed and stood up. “I’m going to go get my suitcase from downstairs.”

Steve watched her go. “Leaving is hard on her.”

“It’s hard on all of us,” Greg said. “But the career she wants won’t happen in a small town like this one.”

“And the weather bothers her, too.” Kathy added as she collected up the pie plates and silverware.

“What’s wrong with the weather?”

“Lake effect skies.” Kathy explained. “She doesn’t mind the snow, but we’re close enough to Lake Erie that we have a lot of overcast days, especially in winter but even in summer. The lack of sunlight really bothers her and by January, she’s likely to have a rough go of it. It doesn’t bother me, but a lot of people in the area are sensitive to it. Megan is one of them.”

“I’m another,” Greg added. “February is a tough month for me. Now that we’re both retired, I’m seriously thinking about heading south for week or two each winter just to get some sunlight.”

“We get plenty of that in D.C. You’re always welcome.” Steve stood up. “I’m going to go get my bag. Do you want me to strip the bed?”

Kathy shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. Doing it one-handed won’t be easy for you and it’s better for me to keep busy when you leave.”

 

****

Despite Megan’s protests, Steve carried their bags and his shield out to the car. His only concession to his injury was that he made two trips since the bags were too awkward to carry in one hand at the same time.

Megan followed him with their jackets and tossed them in the backseat.

“You okay?”

She took a deep breath and nodded. “Give me ten miles and I’ll pull it together. It’s always hard to leave. No matter how often I visit, it never gets easier. But I can’t have the career I want here and they aren’t moving closer. I compartmentalize it pretty well once the first ten miles or so are behind me.”

Steve nodded. “I get it.”

“I know you do. Let’s get this done. Drawn out good-byes just prolong the misery,” she said as she headed back to the house.

“Don’t forget the cake,” Kathy said, handing Megan the leftovers that she’d carefully wrapped in plastic before giving Steve a hug. “Call or email any time. Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t,” he promised before shaking Greg’s hand.

Megan handed Steve the cake and hugged her stepfather, then her mother. “This weekend was just what we needed. I wish we could stay longer.”

Kathy looked up at her daughter and held her by the shoulders. “I’m proud of you. Call me when you get in.”

“I always do. Love you.” Megan wiped the tears away. “Never gets easier.”

“No, but it’s okay,” her mother said. “We love you, too. Drive safely.”

Megan nodded and took the cake back from Steve. He opened the door and followed her out. “We should put this on the floor in the back.”

“I’ll get the door.” Megan opened the passenger side door and held it open while Steve set the cake down.

“Chin up,” he told her softly, so her parents wouldn’t hear.

She just nodded. Her parents stood at the top of the driveway watching them silently. Steve opened her door for her and closed it behind her before going around to get in. He was still fumbling with his seatbelt by the time Megan had her own fastened and the car started. She backed out of the driveway, gave a quick wave and a flash of the headlights before the house, blurred by tears, disappeared in her rearview mirror.

Megan took another deep breath and tried to focus on the life she was heading back to. “I think we pulled it off. Other than that one time when Greg seemed to help distract my mom from being watched, they didn’t act like they realized the danger I’ve put them in. I feel better knowing someone is watching the house.”

“You didn’t put them in danger, Megan. That’s on me.”

He sounded as responsible as she had been feeling. Megan laughed through her tears. “Will you listen to us? We’re arguing over who gets to be responsible for the actions of unknown criminals. We’re both being stupid.”

Steve chuckled. “I guess we are. New topic: what size bed do your parents have?”

“King. Why?”

“My spare room is completely empty at the moment. I may as well get the same size bed as they are used to using.” He hesitated, then added, “…unless you don’t think they’ll visit.”

The vulnerability in his voice was like a knife twisting in her gut. “Oh, they’ll visit. They might even come see me while they’re in town.”

“Do you mind?”

“No. I’m thrilled for you. You’re finally starting to build a support system outside of S.H.I.E.L.D. That’s a good thing.”

“Only until they know how we’ve deceived them.”

“Just the opposite. Mom is going to be ecstatic to know you’re a kindred spirit in the overprotective department. When they learn the lengths you went to in order to protect them, and me, you’ll never hear the end of it. You’re family now, Steve, and they aren’t going to let you go for anything.”

 

*****

The drive home was uneventful, but seemed to go faster since Steve was awake to talk. They rehashed all of what they knew about Megan’s attackers, which was very little, and unsuccessfully tried to find a new angle. From there, the conversation drifted to all sorts of topics, making Megan lament the coming day when she’d have to let Steve go. He had a dry wit that never failed to cheer her, insights that fascinated her, and a curiosity about everything. Most of all, he treated her like an equal, respecting her scientific expertise while teaching her about topics where he was the expert. Leaving her family was always hard, but having Steve in her life kept her grounded in the present.

“How do you want to do this?” Megan asked as she took the exit from 270 for the DC beltway. “I can either take a cab home from your place or drop you off and take your car back to my place and pick you up in the morning on my way to work. Either way is fine with me.”

“Actually, I was going to ask if you’d stay at my place tonight.”

Megan dropped into the best imitation of a Southern drawl she could manage, “Why Capt’n Rogers, are you propositioning me?” She continued in her normal voice, “If this is about what you heard me tell my mom—”

“It’s not, though that was the first time I’ve ever been compared to a tick. You had a valid point, but—”

“You heard that, too?”

“Your dad and I heard the whole thing. We were both trying really hard not to laugh.”

Megan rolled her eyes. “I’m not telling her about that. Back to the main point: you’re a very private person, Steve. I get that. It truly doesn’t bother me you always come over to my place. If you just don’t want to be alone, you’re welcome to stay over tonight.”

“I’d rather not spend another night on that excuse for a bed if I don’t have to.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw him studying her. She pretended not to notice and focused on the road.

“How’d you know?” he finally asked.

“You just got a very rude reminder of how alone you have been. My family wrapped you in a warm hug and you’re getting ready to step back out into the cold. The transition sucks. I feel it every time I come back after visiting them.”

“My whole apartment feels cold.”

“My mom can fix that, you know. For  pocket change and some garage sale hunting, I’m sure she can transform it from cold to cozy. Ask her.”

“I might do that. Stay?”

“Okay, as long as you can stand the hit to your reputation.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “No funny business, you hear me? You try something and I might not leave. Then you’ll really have a problem.”

“I really don’t care what the neighbors think. Just so you know, my apartment has bugs, too. I checked it when Jarvis gave me the tools to check your place.”

“Lovely. I can’t wait to smash them with a hammer.”

“Don’t. When it’s all done, Tony might be able to learn something about those behind them by studying them. I’ll ask Jarvis about how to best get them to New York without being intercepted.”

“Okay. But when he’s done, I want to pulverize them. I am so sick and tired of having to watch every word I say.” She rolled her shoulders, trying to loosen them up after hours of driving. “Do you have a washer and dryer in your unit? I need to do laundry or get a change of work clothes from my place and I’d rather not schlep to a basement laundry room tonight.”

“I have my own, so no schlepping required.”

“Good.” Megan glanced over at him thoughtfully. “You know, I think that’s the first time you’ve ever asked me to do something for you. It’s good to see you becoming less passive about your life.”

“I guess so.”

“It’s not a criticism. You’ve had a heck of an adjustment. It’s logical that it would take some time to get past that and start thinking about what you actually want instead of just reacting to circumstances out of your control. What matters is that you’re still moving forward.”

 

*****

 

Megan shut off the engine and covered her yawn with her hand as she passed the keys to Steve.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

“My, my, but you are getting bold,” she purred.

He rolled his eyes at her as he opened his car door. “Come on.”

Megan grinned at him and pulled her phone from her purse. She punched in her mom’s phone number and held the phone to her ear with her shoulder while she got out and retrieved their coats from the backseat. When the answering machine picked up, she left a brief message that they had arrived safely and could be reached at her cell tonight.

“Do you always call them when you get home?”

“After a road trip. They do the same. We all worry less for some reason if we know the big drive is done and everyone is where they’re supposed to be. Just like the house rule was to leave a note on the kitchen counter if you left the house without telling someone or were deviating from the normal schedule. When I was younger, I used to resent it. But at the same time, I was always glad to find a note when I was the first one home and found myself alone when I’d expected someone to be there. Eventually I figured out that my mom wasn’t trying to keep tabs on me so much as she wanted to know where to find me if necessary. It took her a while to get Greg trained after they got married, but he came around when she had a hard time reaching him when his mom got taken to the hospital by ambulance. If she hadn’t figured out where he had gone off to, he would have never made it to his mom’s bedside before she passed. Greg’s been super careful to leave a note ever since.”

**We do this in my family and I trained my husband the same way. It’s just courtesy, in my opinion. Our kids now leave notes or send us a text if they are not going to be home when we arrive. The note may be vague: “Running errands, back sometime” or more specific “Doing the Wal-Mart run, back by 5ish.” It’s just nice to know that if you need to track someone down, you can. My daughter has a list if friends she is allowed to go visit any time they invite her (summers and weekends when her dad and I are at work) and only has to get transportation from them and let us know where she is. She gets to be social and see them and we don’t worry that she disappeared. For people not on that list, she asks ahead of time. It works for us.**

“It’s those little things that tie a family together. Are you okay carrying the cake?”

“I’m fine. You need to keep that sling on until you heal, so stop trying to find excuses to take it off.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Megan followed Steve into his building and up the steps pulling her bag behind her while she balanced the cake on her other hand. He unlocked the door and turned on the lights before gesturing her to go in.

“I think my whole apartment would fit in your dining room,” she said as she stepped in and looked around, leaving her suitcase just inside the door. She set the cake beside her purse on the kitchen counter.

“Probably.” Steve said, wheeling his own suitcase back to his bedroom. “The washing machine is in an alcove back here by the bathroom.”

Megan retrieved her own suitcase and followed Steve, looking around as she went. “I don’t know why you dislike this place so much. You’ve got all this great old architecture to work with, bookshelves to die for, updated appliances, and tons of room. The fireplace alone is a treasure.”

“Glad you like it.” Steve said, but something in tone was off.

Megan retrieved her laundry bag from her suitcase and dumped it out on the floor. “Do you have anything you want to put in with my stuff? I’m going to do a load of whites first, then darks. I’m out of everything.”

“Sure.” He retrieved his hamper from the bathroom and upended it on the floor, sorting his own laundry into piles.”

“Do you have a light colored pillowcase and a rubber band? I didn’t bring a bag for delicates and my bras all need to be washed. A pillowcase will work.”

“So you don’t just stuff the washing machine full, add soap, and run for the hills?”

Megan smiled at him from where she was kneeling on the floor. “No, I usually take it all down to the river to beat on the rocks. I figured I try something different this time. If I can be high maintenance and borrow a t-shirt to sleep in, I can wash this nightgown, too. I woke up soaked in sweat in the middle of the night last night and really don’t want to wear it again.”

“Nightmare?” Steve asked, handing her a pillowcase. “I’ll get you a rubber band.”

Megan nodded, pointing to her scar. She slipped the bra she was wearing off under her shirt, then secured it with all the others in the makeshift bag and gathered up all of the white and light colored laundry in her arms. She pretended not to notice the look in Steve’s face when he’d seen her pull her bra out from her sleeve. Steve turned on a light for her and she loaded the washing machine while he fetched an empty laundry basket to put the rest of their clothes in. He put the few items that were not going to be laundered tonight back in his hamper.

“You know, as a bachelor you’re supposed to be living like an absolute slob,” she told him as she watched him work.

“You’ll have to forgive me because I didn’t get the manual.”

“How can I brag about whipping you into shape when you’re already neat and organized?” Megan started the machine and leaned against it, folding her arms across her chest. “There’s nothing left for me to do. You cook, you clean, you pick up after yourself. I suppose you put the toilet seat down, too.”

“And the lid.”

She threw up her hands in mock disgust. “You’re impossible! It’s no wonder you’re on the top floor of the building! It’s the only way you can keep droves of women from climbing in your windows.”

“Is that why? I thought it was because S.H.I.E.L.D. found the place after they moved me from New York.”

Megan saw the pain flash in his eyes though she couldn’t pinpoint the cause. He’d been closed off since they came inside although he was trying to hide it. “How about some cake? I’m not quite ready to turn in. I can’t go from vigilant driver to sleep that fast.”

“Okay,” he said, leading her back to the kitchen.

While he got plates and forks out, she wandered into his living room and found one corner that said it she was in a home and not a model unit for potential renters to tour. “A real record player! You must have searched high and low to find this. Mind if I put something on?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. found it. Go ahead,” he told her from the other room.

She turned it on and dropped the needle on the album that was still on the turntable. Rich sounds filled the room. “I love big band jazz,” she said, heading back to the kitchen. She perched on one of the stools at the breakfast bar that was situated between the kitchen and dining room.

“Me, too. I tried CDs but they don’t sound right.”

“I’m not surprised.” Seeing his questioning look, she continued, “The digital files on a typical CD don’t contain the full sound spectrum. To save space, some of the data is stripped out. Casual listeners don’t notice or care and it doesn’t much matter in the car. But the serum ensured you have excellent hearing. I’m not surprised you notice the difference in sound quality.”

“It’s not just me?” he asked as he put a plate of cake in front of her and handed her a fork. He left his own plate on the counter by the sink and ate standing up across from her.

Megan shook her head, smiling softly. “It’s not you pining for the past. There is a real difference in the sound quality aside from the crackling. Newer CDs tend to distort sounds less than the older ones, but a lot of people prefer one medium over the other. Now, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

He pointed to his ear, reminding her that they were not really alone. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

She accepted that with a sympathetic nod, making a mental note to ask him about it later. While she ate, she looked around his apartment to see what might be bothering him. “Did you dance a lot, back in the day?”

Pain flashed across his face before he hid it. He shook his head. “No. Bucky did, but I never learned.”

“The smoke in the night clubs must have bothered your asthma. I keep forgetting how ubiquitous smoking was back then.”

Steve nodded. “Smoke was pretty much everywhere. I don’t miss that.”

Megan let him brood until they were both done eating. She put her plate in the dishwasher and tugged his hand “I’ll show you the one dance step I learned. I tried to get Randy to learn ballroom dancing with me. We made it to one class before he decided he hated it and didn’t want to learn. It’s still on my bucket list.”

“Bucket list?”

“It’s from a movie by the same name. You’ll like it. A pair of guys who met in the hospital made a list of all the things they wanted to do or see before they kicked the bucket. Ever since the movie came out, people talk about their own bucket lists. I rather like the idea though I have not formally written one out. Learning ballroom dance is definitely on it. Come on, it won’t take more than two minutes, because I remember nothing more than how to stand and how to do the box step. Do it beside me so we don’t have the complication of mirror imaging it to start. I’m not coordinated enough for that.”

“Megan.”

“Stop brooding and stand beside me. When you do it for real, you’ll start with your left foot while your partner starts with her right. But the sequence of steps is the same no matter what foot you start with.” She counted out loud and completed one box. “See? That’s it. When they tried to show us turns, Randy completely fell apart so I never got past the basic box. Try it with me.” She ignored his dour mood and did the sequence again. Finally, he tried matching her steps on her third attempt. “You got it on the first try. It must be all that footwork you and Natasha do when you’re fighting hand to hand.”

“Maybe.”

“Do you want to try it facing me?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again without speaking.

“It’s okay. I’m tired too,” she said lightly, trying to hide her own hurt. There was something simmering under the surface that she couldn’t put her finger on. “Find me that t-shirt and I’ll get ready for bed.”

“Megan,” he caught her hand and kept her from walking away.

She caught his face between her hands and pulled him down to her. “It’s okay,” she whispered in his ear, too softly to be heard over the music. “Let’s just get ready for bed. The washer will be done soon and we can move the second load to the dryer in the morning when we wake up. Stuff in the dryer will wrinkle, but I can use your iron on my shirt before we head into work. You do have an iron, don’t you?”

He nodded.

“You’re too damn perfect. You even iron.” She pulled away and this time he let her go. “Step to, soldier. I want to go to bed.”

While he brushed his teeth, she stripped off her jeans and dropped them in a puddle on the floor by the bed, followed by her socks. She pulled the covers back and turned off the lights. “Lose the jeans and lie face down in the middle of the bed,” she told him when he emerged.

He gave her a wary look and handed her a t-shirt from his dresser.

“Just do it, okay?”

Reluctantly, he obeyed. To give him some space, she busied herself finding a tube of lotion from her suitcase. When he was prone, she straddled his hips and dispensed a generous portion of lotion into her hand before recapping the tube and placing it beside her. She spread the lotion across his shoulders and along his spine, kneading the tension from his muscles as she went. Her fingers found the knots and gently worked them loose and he sighed in pleasure as he finally started to relax. If she occasionally kissed his nape or let her lips brush across his shoulder as she worked around the straps to the sling, who could blame her? She used her hands to tell him what she dared not put into words tonight. Whatever was bothering him, she wanted him to know she was here. She cared.

Slowly, so slowly, his defenses came down until he was asleep.

Megan got up carefully, trying not to stumble when her knees protested too much time spent in the same position. She pulled their clothes from the dryer and laid their shirts across the back of the chairs in the dining room. She didn’t want to wake him by fumbling in the closet for hangers. The rest she dumped into a laundry basket that she set in the bedroom before moving their dark clothes to the dryer and turning it on.

Steve didn’t rouse at any of the sounds, even when she pulled the covers up over him and slid into bed beside him. Heat poured off of him and she didn’t miss the warmth of her electric blanket when she had him to chase away the chill. He rolled onto his back and she studied his profile in the dim light from the street lamp that edged past the window shades. He looked so much younger when he was asleep and not carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Only when she was half asleep herself did she remember him mentioning that he was to meet Peggy at a night club so she could teach him to dance. Instead, he’d put his plane into the water while talking to her on the radio. She felt sick to her stomach at her error of practically forcing him dance beside her in the kitchen. At least she hadn’t made him dance with her face to face. It didn’t explain what he’d been brooding about before then, but it certainly explained his near-complete shutdown afterward. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” she whispered to his sleeping form. It was so tempting to snuggle up to him and press her lips to the bare shoulder that was closest to her. Somehow, it felt like it would be an intrusion into his space to do so.

She lay there a long time just watching him. He stayed closed off in so many ways that he was really still a stranger to her. He had made it his mission in life to take care of others, but seemed to do little to take care of himself. Other than sketching and riding his bike, she wasn’t sure how he filled his time, aside from hours spent hiding in books. He never talked about his own dreams for the future, or even short-term goals. His apartment was sterile, just like he’d said it was. But she didn’t see where he’d made any effort to change it and that was something she didn’t understand. At her parents’ house, he’d seemed so relaxed and at ease, soaking up the normalcy he found himself in. What had he done to find normalcy on his own? Had he given up and decided it was impossible? When you peeled back the facade of the soldier, dug behind the layer of the giving friend, who was he? What did he want out of life? Did he even know? Or was he as anchorless as he seemed, adrift on the currents of time, just waiting for his next mission to give him the pretense of purpose? She feared it was the latter and he deserved more from life. What would it take to make him see it?

Until he had a better sense of direction, a genuine long-term romantic relationship wasn’t really possible. How could he meet a life partner halfway if he didn’t know what he wanted most and what he could compromise on? If his plan was to just follow his partner’s lead—no matter who that partner ended up being—he’d end up resenting her in the end when things didn’t turn out. Life was hard, but Megan believed that you had to have something to work for to make the journey meaningful. If she woke him up and asked him where he wanted to be doing in five years, she’d bet Tony Stark’s last dollar that Steve wouldn’t be able to say. He’d smile and say he had a responsibility to protect and serve, or he’d find another way to deflect the question. The phrase “I want” didn’t seem to be in his vocabulary.

He shifted again, this time rolling onto his side, whimpering slightly as he rolled onto his injured arm. With his right arm, he reached out and pulled her to him. Tucked against him, she finally fell asleep.

 

*****

**I really didn’t plan this. I was writing along and Steve’s phone rang. What came after came out of nowhere for me, too. The Muse does what she wants, but I was gutted by the results.**

Steve’s phone rang shortly after midnight, waking them both.

“Hello?” Steve sat up and as the caller talked, Megan could tell he was going to full alert. “Tell B.J. I’m on my way.” He hung up the phone and reached for a pair of jeans. “Get dressed,” he told Megan. “I need you to drive me to Children’s National.”

Megan got up and stripped off the shirt she’d slept in. The urgency in Steve’s voice told her it wasn’t the time for modesty. “Who is B.J.?” she asked, pulling on her jeans  “Bra..bra…” she muttered to herself, digging through the laundry basket. Finding the pillowcase, she got one out and put it on.

“Bucky Junior. All the H.H.C.’s get a nickname. B.J.’s special. You’ll see.”

She nodded and dove for the pair of dirty socks she’d slipped off her feet before crawling into bed. For one of the Honorary Howling Commando’s to get Bucky’s nickname, he had to be special. “Let’s go.”

Steve nodded and followed her to the front door. Megan grabbed one of her t-shirts from the dining room chair where she’d left it to hang, and put it on while while Steve picked up his shield. Seeing her questioning glance, he explained. “It’s important to the kids. I let them hold it during the really nasty procedures.”

They were silent in the car, save for when Steve told her where to turn on the somber drive. Megan pulled up in front of the emergency entrance. “Go. I’ll catch up to you after I park.”

“Bring my shield. Having it will prove you’re with me,” he said after a slight hesitation, clearly torn between getting to B.J’s side and ensuring Megan could get in, too.

“Go!” Megan snapped. She’d find a way in, even if it took some time. The important thing was for Steve to get there.

She parked the car in the visitor parking area and jogged to the emergency entrance, carrying Steve’s shield in front of her. She forced herself to slow to a brisk walk once through the doors and made a beeline for the security guard. “I’m here with Captain Rogers. Where did he go?”

The guard looked her up and down, then nodded. “He said you’d be right behind him. He’s in the oncology unit. Fourth floor, take the hall to your left coming off the elevators.”

“Thank you.” Megan waited impatiently for the elevator car to arrive and tapped her fingers on her leg. She jammed the button for the fourth floor and headed down the hallway as soon as they were part way open. When she held up the shield with an inquiring glance at the nurses’ station, they wordlessly directed her to the correct room.

Steve was sitting on bed that had been adjusted to an upright position. A small child about the age of five was cradled in his lap, leaning back against Steve’s chest while his parents, one on each side of the bed, sat in chairs as they each held one of B.J.’s hands. His skin was the color of dark chocolate with an undertone of yellow his parents didn’t have. Megan wondered if it was jaundice. Steve had removed his sling so he could better hold B.J. against him and it lay carelessly discarded on the railing of the bed.

“Hi there, B.J. My name is Megan. Would you let me lay Captain America’s shield on your lap? He asked me to bring it for you to hold for awhile.”

B.J. opened his eyes and weakly nodded. The whites of his eyes were yellow, a sure sign of jaundice. His liver was failing. Megan idly wondered what sort of cancer had ravaged this young soldier’s body.

Megan gently laid the shield across B.J.’s legs, though given the size of his tiny body nestled between Steve’s muscular thighs, she knew it was Steve, not B.J., actually holding the shield. She noticed B.J. had a vinyl badge holder clipped to his hospital gown. Inside was the business card sized H.H.C. membership card Steve had given him on an earlier visit, certifying that Bucky Junior was a full member of the Captain America’s Honorary Howling Commandos. The badge was much loved and had clearly seen many days of proud service. Numerous decorations on the wall spoke of a long hospital stay.

“Megan, this is Amadi and his wife, Themba,” Steve said, introducing them.

Megan put her hand on the shoulder of the women sitting beside her. “Can I get either of you something to drink or a light snack? Perhaps some apple juice?”

Amadi nodded once. “Themba, we must,” he said softly while looking at his wife. His eyes were wet with tears.

“I’ll be right back,” Megan promised and went back to the nurses’ station to ask about where to secure refreshments. It was going to be a long night.

 

****

 

An hour passed, then another. Nurses came and went, quietly checking I.V. lines, monitoring vitals, and doing what they could to keep B.J. comfortable as he dozed. Megan had claimed a spot on the window-seat that doubled as a parent bed, keeping watch and saying nothing while she drank cup after of cup of tea. Time stood still.

Finally, Amadi broke the silence, “I apologize for disturbing your sleep, Captain. We had thought it was time and he was asking for you.”

“Don’t apologize, Amadi. I told him I’d be here if at all possible,” Steve said without opening his eyes. Megan knew he was awake, resting while keeping watch. It was a trick he’d mastered after far too much practice in battlefield conditions. “I’m glad to be here if it gives him comfort.”

“Do you want some coffee, Steve?” Megan asked, shifting in her seat. She knew that while the caffeine didn’t affect him, the smell and taste still brought comfort.

Steve opened his eyes long enough to meet her gaze and nod. “Thanks, Megan.”

“Anyone else? Tea perhaps, or more juice?”

B.J.’s parents shook their heads. Megan could only image how they were feeling right now. While no one had said it, she knew they were waiting for B.J. to die. The battle had been long and hard fought. Worry lines had prematurely aged their faces, exhaustion sunken their cheeks. But the balloons and cards and Captain America toys spoke of the joy and normalcy they’d tried to give their son under these impossible conditions. On the window-seat beside her, the bed pillow and sleeping bag told of fragmented sleep in a hospital room so B.J. would never be alone.

“Captain?” It was the first time B.J. had said anything since Megan had arrived in the room.

“Yes, B.J.?”

“Who is Dum Dum and why is he wearing that funny hat?”

Instantly, the adults all became alert. A quick glance from Steve told Megan to wait on the coffee. She moved to the bedside and pressed the nurses’ call button.

“Dum Dum was one of my Howling Commandos a long time ago That funny hat is called a bowler hat, B.J.,” Steve explained, “That is the only kind of hat I ever saw Dum Dum wear. It’s his favorite.”

“Oh. He has a funny mustache, too. It’s so big compared to daddy’s mustache.” B.J. was looking towards the wall beyond the foot of his bed but his eyes were focused on someone the rest of them couldn’t see.

Steve laughed softly despite himself. “Yes, it is. Union Jack always told him it looked like an orange caterpillar growing under his nose.”

“Dum Dum’s laughing, too, Captain.”

“I like his laugh, don’t you?” Steve asked softly, sharing significant looks with B.J.’s parents.

“It tickles my tummy.”

The nurse slipped into the room and Megan quietly asked him to shut off any alarms that would be triggered by B.J.’s passing.

Steve asked, “Who else is here, B.J.? Do you see Bucky anywhere?”

B.J. lifted his head from Steve’s chest and looked around. “I see my Grandpa. He’s waving to me! He telling me I should go with him.” B.J.’s voice was strong now and he seemed joyful.

“Oh, Baruti James, we will miss you so,” Themba said as she kissed her son’s hand. “Grandpa will take care of you until we can join you.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone, Mommy.”

“It is time, son. Go with your grandfather and Dum Dum. We love you,” Amadi said in a low voice.

“Captain’s, orders, B.J. Don’t keep them waiting,” Steve added with tears streaming down his cheeks. “I’ll keep an eye on your parents for you, okay? They’ll be fine, I promise.”

“Dum Dum said I can wear his hat.” B.J. said as he leaned his head back against Steve once more.

“You’ve a very lucky soldier, B.J. I’ve never seen Dum Dum lend his hat to anyone.”

They waited to see what else B.J. had to say. There was only silence. He was gone.

B.J.’s parents leaned over their son’s body, kissing his cheeks and whispering good-byes. Steve put his arms around them both as all three of them wept. Megan could barely see Steve looking at her through her own tears. She wanted to hug him but stayed where she was standing against the wall. Steve just watched her, letting her eyes hold him while he held B.J.’s parents.

 

****

 

It was nearly five when they arrived back at Steve’s apartment. Neither had spoken since leaving the hospital. Words weren’t necessary. They simply stripped off their clothes, crawled into bed, then held each other as they slept in the limited time they had before the alarm clock would announce it was time to face the day.

When the alarm did sound, Megan moaned. She was wrung out.

“Get your shower first and I’ll start breakfast,” Steve told her, pressing a kiss to her temple.

She nodded and slid out of bed without another word, praying that the hot water would revive her.

Dressed in the same clothes she’d worn to work Friday and with her hair pulled up in a damp ponytail, she stumbled into the kitchen. Steve handed her a mug of extra strong tea and pointed out the sausage and French toast that were waiting at the table. “I don’t have oatmeal,” he said, apologetically.

“Tea’s more important.” She dug in, devouring the food methodically while her mind raced. It was hard to process it all. And there was no way she was letting their unseen audience learn about such a sacred event. They could talk in the car.

They’d barely gotten on the road before she broke the silence. “Has that ever happened before?”

Steve somehow had followed her train of thought. “No, I’ve sat with a few kids as they passed, but no one ever mentioned one of the Howling Commandos. B.J. was special.”

“I’m sorry Bucky didn’t show up.”

“Me, too. Dum Dum loved kids, so I can’t say I’m surprised he’s the one who came.”

“That was amazing how peacefully he went once you all told him to go. It was nice of you to give him an order so his parents didn’t have to feel guilty about pushing him too hard.”

“Thanks. I hope it helps them a little bit. He’s been such a fighter for so long. Through all the tests and treatments, he stayed cheerful and upbeat. He’s been in and out of the hospital so much the last year we’ve all lost track of how many times it was. He’d get a bit better then have a complication. I was really hoping he’d beat it, but not long after Christmas, the doctors said it wasn’t likely.”

“Do you remember what kind of cancer it was?”

“Some sort of neuroblastoma. They thought it was beaten, but it spread and came back. Whenever I visited him, we tried to talk about other stuff. I’ve been the sick kid and I remember how helpful it was when Bucky kept my mind off how I was feeling. His parents have been amazing. They were honest with him about everything and answered all of his questions without ever letting him see it was killing them to watch him suffer. They talked about chemotherapy and blood tests like you and I would talk about the weather, always simple, clear, and upbeat. When he started to ask if he was going to die soon, they told him straight up that he was and that it was nothing to be afraid of. They made it sound like he was going on a grand adventure. Compared to the hospital, I suppose it was.

“A couple of weeks ago when I went to see him, he asked me if I’d sit with him while he died in the most matter of fact tone. I couldn’t promise, since I might be out on a mission, but I told him I’d come sit with him if I was in town. I didn’t tell Nick. He doesn’t want anything to interfere with work. I’m glad I was able to be there for him. I’m going to miss that little guy.”

 

****

 

“Aren’t those the same clothes you wore Friday?” Emma asked when Megan sat down at her desk to make a list of what she had to get done today.

“Maybe. They’ve been laundered, so what does it matter?”

“You were seen arriving this morning driving a certain Captain’s car. I’m betting you never went home this weekend.”

“Actually, I spent the entire weekend at home, but I’m not in the mood, okay? I’ve barely had any sleep and I have a ton of work I have to get done.”

“Finally got that home run, didn’t you?”

“Emma, I’m done talking about it. I don’t understand everyone’s fascination with my personal life and I’d appreciate you dropping it.”

“Okay, don’t be so touchy!” Emma said, throwing up her hands and backing away.

Megan pretended not to notice the whispers that dropped off whenever she entered the lab. Emma’s passion for gossip had really gotten out of hand and Megan regretted ever admitting she and Steve were more than friends. What had started out as a way to let the work grapevine hopefully keep her unknown attackers apprised of her efforts to seduce Steve had morphed into a monster. She was too tired today to deal with monsters.

**Megan is learning that there are limits to what she can control.**

By midmorning, Megan was doing triage on her list. She had a pounding headache: the kind she got when she was exhausted. No pain medicine on Earth would touch it; she knew that from experience. Nausea would follow. Presumably, she’d eventually start puking but it had never happened before. She knew when the nausea hit that she was beyond her limits and the only option was sleep. She only hoped that by the time she was incapacitated by nausea today that she’d be home in her own bed.

It wasn’t to be.

She did the minimum bench work in the lab that she had to do to keep her experiments moving forward. She changed the medium on the cells she was scaling up and wrapped up one set of experiments, but made no effort to start the next series. She was in bad enough shape than she put a note in her lab notebook that she was overly tired today and that any unexpected results were attributable to fatigue.

By afternoon, she was at her desk, her head propped on her hand, staring at papers she was pretending to read. The words blurred in front of her but it didn’t matter. Even when she got her eyes to focus, her brain wasn’t cooperating. Caffeine didn’t help, either. She needed sleep and nothing else was going to help. Certainly not the new assignment that she’d found waiting on her desk. That was just making the headache worse. It was time to be more proactive in her research.

Making one last trip to her bench under the pretense of searching for her favorite pen, she retraced her movement around the lab and pocketed some 15 mL tubes, sterile swabs, cytobrushes, and gloves. Back at her desk, she moved them to her purse while gathering up some journal article she needed to read for her new assignment. She had no plans on actually reading them tonight. Instead, she was going to ask Steve if Jarvis would be able to help her with some data compilation from the literature. She didn’t want all of her searches to be done at work where her supervisors could track them, and access to the journals was only possible by the subscriptions S.H.I.E.L.D. had purchased, leading back to the issue of begin tracked on her work account. Paying thirty bucks for independent access to a single paper would soon total hundreds of dollars she didn’t have to spend.

She grabbed her lunch bag, put her purse and work bag on her shoulder, and headed to the parking garage, nearly plowing into Steve on her way out of her office. “Sorry,” she said when she realized she’d almost hit him. He caught her easily and took her work bag from her.

“Are you okay to drive?”

“Nope. You’re going to drive while I shift. Take the strap off your back so you can use that arm to steer with both hands in an emergency.”

“You’re serious.”

She looked up at him, squinting in the too-bright lights of the corridor. “Does this look like the face of someone safe behind the wheel? Shifting isn’t a problem. It’s the whole bad reflexes, not seeing well because I’m nearly blind with a headache issue that we need to worry about. You step on the clutch; I shift the gears.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t you dare apologize for last night. But please, can we not talk about this here? The rumor mill is already working overtime.”

“Okay.”

“What did you do all day?”

“They took the stitches out and then I got to play desk jockey since they won’t let me near the gym.”

Megan could tell that the latter was really wearing on him. Steve liked to move. “Build any paperclip structures?”

“No, but I filled out a lot of reports.”

“TPS reports? Should I lend you my red stapler?”

“They actually make a red stapler?”

Megan nodded. “That was one Christmas present Randy got right. I keep it in the top drawer of my desk so no one takes it. If they do, I’ll have to burn down the whole complex. That seems rather wasteful.”

“I’ll remind Nick to never move your desk.”

“You do that. Next time you have to do reports, come down to the lab. We’ll put to you work racking pipette tips or something.”

**I love the movie _Office Space_ and my husband gave me the red stapler for Christmas one year. I figured Steve has probably watched a few movies from the local library or on late night TV. Everyone needs to watch _Office Space_ at least once. **

****

 

At Steve’s apartment, she imitated writing on a tablet to request a pad and a pen. Instead, he handed over his Stark tablet and pointed to the smoke alarm that wasn’t easy to reach. Nodding understanding, she searched for directions for collecting buccal samples and handed it to him when she found a simple protocol. He frowned, not understanding until she pulled out her pilfered supplies and pointed to both him and herself. She separated the materials into two piles and headed back to his bedroom.

She stripped off her clothes and left them in a pile on the floor to deal with later.

“I’m crashing here tonight. Sorry,” she mumbled when she heard footsteps approach. She looked around, trying to remember where she’d put the t-shirt she’d slept in. She’d gone from bed straight to get a shower. “Excuse me,” she said, pushing past him to retrieve it. There it was, hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Belatedly, she realized she’d just flashed him as she wandered around in nothing but her panties.

“It’s fine.”

She came out of the bathroom once the shirt was on and noticed he was making a concerted effort to keep his eyes on her face. If only she were awake enough to enjoy this!

“Have you eaten anything?”

“I’d rather not throw up. I’m so tired I’m nauseated. I’ll eat later once I’ve slept a bit. I’ve had this happen before, don’t worry. I just have the luck of a body that tells me very clearly when I’ve pushed too far,” she explained as she lay down in bed and burrowed under the covers.

“Okay, good night then.”

She gave him a tiny wave and heard him head back to the kitchen. Soon, she heard soothing music playing softly in the living room and she fell asleep before the first record was done playing.

****

 

When Megan woke later, Steve was sleeping beside her. Her stomach was rumbling in hunger, so she slipped out of bed and padded to the kitchen in search of something to eat. She found a note on the counter—laid on top of the Stark Tablet she could have sworn she had left in her apartment—telling her to help herself to the meals in the freezer. When she opened the freezer door, she had to struggle to hold back her laughter. Steve’s freezer looked like something out of a magazine. There were neat stacks of plastic containers, all carefully labeled with their contents and date of preparation. Wire baskets organized bags of frozen vegetables. She noticed he even had a frozen apple pie ready to bake. “Too damn perfect,” she muttered to herself though she was smiling.

She decided on some chicken noodle soup and found a saucepan in the drawer under the stove. Exploring a bit more, she discovered a loaf of French bread in the bread drawer and helped herself to a generous slice.

While the soup heated, she collected the buccal sample from her cheeks and placed the harvest, brush and all, into the waiting tube that was labeled with her initials. Steve had already collected his and set aside the various wrappers and gloves to discard in a random trash bin on their way to work. She put the two tubes into her purse to smuggle into the lab later that morning.

Once that task was done, she wandered around his apartment, feeling restless despite her fatigue. She found he’d placed some of the pictures Rebecca had given him in frames and they were sitting on an end table near the stereo. His mother’s Bible was on a bookshelf amongst other favorite texts. He didn’t have much else out that marked the space as his, though she found some large framed prints leaning against a bookshelf at the end of the hallway. Either he’d been unsure where to hang them or had regretted purchasing them in the first place.

Most of his books seemed to focus on history and politics though there were some volumes dedicated to art as well. He had so many books, far more than she did, and it made her wonder if he’d read them all yet. She had visions of him haunting used bookstores, searching for books he liked and bringing them home, only to grow restless in the barren space and head out again in search of what was missing in his life.

She checked the soup and stirred it before heading to the bathroom. She was surprised to find additional slacks and blouses hanging there, and there was a tote bag on the doorknob containing more knee-high nylons, underwear, and bras. While she slept, Steve had gone to her apartment and fetched her more of her work clothes. He’d even been careful to pick outfits he’d seen her wear. How could she possibly repay him for the untold gestures of caring he showered her with every day? Had he taken a cab? She knew he avoided public transportation since he was so easily recognized, though he could have left his shield at home for the trip. Commuting to work on the Metro with the shield on his back was a sure sign of his identity, which is why he told her he preferred to ride his bike.

Where was his shield, anyway? She found it leaning against the wall by the front door and she picked it up and put it on the dining room table to examine while she ate. She’d held it before, but she’d never had the chance to really study it.

She turned the kitchen lights on low and dished out her soup. Sitting at the table, she ate with one hand while she fingered the worn leather straps of his shield with the other. “The stories you could tell, I can only imagine,” she said softly. The edges were sharper than she’d expected, beveled to what she estimated to be a sixty degree angle. Perhaps that was so he could use it as crude axe as needed. The leather had to be new, didn’t it? Even with lots of cleaning and care, leather wouldn’t take kindly to decades in the ice. But the straps were dark, stained with sweat and possibly blood, and she decided that maybe they were indeed original.

She turned it over to look at the painted face. It didn’t surprise her that there were scuff marks here and there that marred the paint. The metal beneath was unblemished. “I wonder if he’ll ever get the chance to hang you on the wall as a memento of an era now past? He shouldn’t have to keep fighting the same battles again and again. How many lives have you saved?”

**I love visiting historical sites. How many stories could the walls tell us? I wish there were a way to hear those simple tales of everyday life. I figure Megan is feeling introspective and in the middle of the night, her guard is down.**

**The items that people held dear are especially fascinating to me. Can you imagine holding Pa Ingalls' fiddle? Or Abe Lincoln's Bible? If I had a chance to examine Steve's shield, you can bet I'd be muttering to it and imagining where it had been! I'd do it at high noon, not at "stupid thirty" in the morning, either. I'd also be badgering Steve for details.**

“Do you expect it to answer?”

Megan shook her head, not really surprised that Steve was awake. He was a soldier through and through, used to his apartment being silent when he slept. She looked at him. His hair was mussed with sleep and his pajama pants hung low around his waist. He looked yummy enough to eat. She took another bite of soup instead. “If it talks back, I know I’m in trouble. I’m sorry I woke you.”

He shook his head, brushing off her concern. “Feeling better?” he asked, joining her at the table.

“Headache is gone. Now I’m just tired. Thanks for fetching more clothes. It will help shut Emma up. She was on my case today about wearing the same outfit I had worn on Friday.”

“You’re welcome.”

“How do you keep doing it? Megan fingered one of the scuff marks, idly wondering what had caused the damage this time.

“What do you mean?”

Megan looked up from the shield. “Year after year, you keep running into combat and gunfire. War isn’t glamorous. It’s hunger and cold and blood and fatigue. You’ve seen the very worst of humanity, made heart wrenching decisions, lived through nightmares I can’t even imagine, and you still manage to see the good in people. I don’t have that kind of courage, to willingly put my life on the line for an ideal, and you do it again and again, even when the price is more nightmares and more triggers for panic attacks in a world where nothing we do makes a damn bit of difference. How do you keep doing it?”

“You know the starfish parable?”

Megan nodded. It was more of an answer than she’d expected. She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. “I couldn’t do what you do. I wish I had that kind of courage, but I don’t. And as much as I hate facing my own limitations, I know that’s one of mine.”

“We all have limitations. Besides, what else would I do? I’ve been given a gift; I have a responsibility to use it wisely. What’s got you so introspective tonight?”

“I don’t know. B.J. The fact it’s stupid thirty in the morning. Going home this weekend. None of it and all of it.”

“Are you done eating?”

“Yeah. Good soup, though.”

“Thanks. I had a good teacher.”

Megan got up and put the shield back where she’d found it. Steve put the leftover soup in the fridge while she put her bowl and spoon in the dishwasher. “I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’d forgotten about your dance with Peggy. I wasn’t trying to stir the pot.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Let me win that bet of ours and I can be here every night,” she said as she hugged him from behind. “Or maybe I should just move in and see how long you can hold out.” She stretched up and nibbled on his ear lobe.

“Let me rephrase that,” he said, turning around and winking at her. “I like having you in my kitchen. But you hog the covers, flail with your arms, and keep kicking me. As soon as I’m cleared to drive, you’re sleeping in your own bed.”

Her eyebrows shot up at that. He wanted her here until he was allowed to drive without the sling on his arm? He nodded silently and she tucked that fact away to consider later. “Well, if you’d do a better job of wearing me out, I’m sure I’d lie still all night long.” Megan said in a sultry voice. “You have only yourself to blame.”

Steve just put his arm around her and led her back to bed.

 

*****

Life settled into a new routine that was far too easy for Megan to love. Though something was still off with Steve—she caught him studying her with a pained, brooding expression more than once—she set that aside. He didn’t owe her any explanations. She also knew, instinctively, that the best way to get him to confide in her was to wait for him to do it on his own terms and in his own time. Living in his apartment was a further intrusion into his space; it was only natural he’d try to protect this thoughts since they were the only privacy he had left.

**It’s quite simple: He wants what he thinks he can’t have and doesn’t deserve. Since she feels the same way, she can’t see it in him.**

Planning with Jarvis was a bit more difficult since she didn’t want Steve to see that she wasn’t always reading the journal articles Jarvis had found for her. But when he sat down to sketch, he got lost in his own world and that gave her some time to work.

Jarvis was nothing short of a miracle worker. No matter what time of day or night she sent him a message, he got back to her within minutes. Her tentative request for help searching the science literature had resulting in him sending her an annotated bibliography of the papers he’s selected, along with the full pdf file for each source. He’d even remotely installed an application that allowed her to use a stylus to take notes on the pdfs she was reading and then send them to a proprietary database Jarvis said he’d designed for Mr. Stark.

**Jarvis would have made graduate school so much easier for me!**

Thursday evening found Megan at Steve’s dining room table, typing away as she conversed with Jarvis about her research project. Steve was sitting in the living room sketching. He’d been quiet tonight, more so than usual, but Megan left him alone. Her tablet beeped again with an incoming message from Jarvis. 

“Dr. Megan, I have now received materials from all of the guests. They all signed releases for compilation into a book we’ll distribute at the gathering. I took the liberty of having my assistant digitize them so I can begin to work on the layout based on your initial idea. Do you wish for him to mount the original materials into a scrapbook to give to Captain Rogers along with the book? Page proofs of the initial layout are attached. I’ve loaded the necessary software to your tablet. Please let me know if you have any questions about using it. I have not yet written a manual for the software. Jarvis.”

“I hate to impose on you and your assistant like that. I can try to come up a day early and do the physical assembly myself if you prefer. I just can’t risk doing it at my apartment since Steve is so often there. I’ll take a look at the proofs and write more in a few minutes. M.” After she hit send, she opened the proofs.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked, hearing her muttered exclamations from the other room.”

“Nothing. It’s just...” Megan stammered, scrambling to deflect his attention. “I’m sick of looking at science papers. I think it’s frying my brain. At her keyboard, she typed an email to Steve, knowing it would go to his phone. “Jarvis never ceases to amaze me. He just went above and beyond on something I asked him to help me with. I swear the man never sleeps. Day or night, he’s always online. Mr. Stark must have him chained to his desk or something and it’s not healthy. Frankly, I’m worried about him. He never says no to anything.”

Steve read her message and got up. When she realized he was going to join her at the table, she bought up her science papers so he wouldn’t see what she had really been working on.

He took her stylus and turned her tablet to note writing mode. “You don’t need to worry about Jarvis. Tony loves him like a son and they take care of each other. Just think of Jarvis as a chronic insomniac,” he wrote.

“Okay. But what about his people pleasing tendencies? That’s not good for anyone.” Megan wrote back. “Oh, keep rubbing my neck like that,” she said aloud for the microphones.

He gave her a sideways glance before writing, “That’s Jarvis being Jarvis. It’s part of who he is. Trust me that you don’t need to worry. Just be his friend. If you—” his phone rang and he dropped the stylus on the table to answer it. “Rogers. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll be there… Of course I’ll serve if that’s what you want….Yes… She’s with me now, why don’t you ask her yourself.”

Steve handed her the phone. “Hello?” Megan asked, looking at Steve questioningly.

“Megan, this is Amadi. My wife and I wanted to ask you to join us at Baruti’s funeral on Sunday morning.”

“I’m honored to be invited. Of course I will be there. Did you give Steve the details already or should I write them down?”

“Captain Rogers has the time and location. Thank you for your kindness. We will see you Sunday,” Amadi said before hanging up.

Stunned, Megan handed the phone back to Steve. “Why do they want me there?”

“You were a comfort to them in the hospital.”

“But I didn’t do anything.”

“You were there. You didn’t try to fix it or tell them it was going to be okay. You took care of them while respecting their need to grieve.”

“But anyone would—”

Steve shook his head. “Unfortunately, that’s not the case. I’ve seen death enough to know how different people react. Denial is common. People get wrapped up in protecting themselves and don’t leave room for truth. You didn’t do that. I heard you ask the nurse to shut off the alarms on the machines.”

“I didn’t him to be scared by all the noise.”

“Come here,” Steve said as he pulled her into a hug. “I want to show you what I’ve been working on. I’m stuck and want your opinion.” He led her back into the living room and gestured for her to sit on the couch. He handed her his sketch pad. “I started drawing just the one scene to give to B.J.’s parents, but there’s no way to get all three of them looking the same way. I’m wondering if I should do a collage of sorts on a larger pad based on these other sketches.”

Megan took the pad from him and looked at the image he’d drawn. It showed a man kneeling in front of B.J. as he put a bowler hat on B.J.s head. B.J.’s grandfather stood with his hands on the boy’s shoulders, watching the interaction with a slight smile. “It’s beautiful. How’d you get a picture of B.J.’s grandfather?”

“Jarvis did some research. Amadi’s father died over a decade ago, which ruled him out. Themba’s father died just last year, so B.J. would have known him. It turns out he lived with the family for the last two years of his life. Jarvis found some pictures on Facebook of them together. It helped me see what B.J. looked like when he was healthy.”

“I love it, but you’re right, seeing Dum Dum’s face would be nice. You can’t turn him around without losing the face-to-face with B.J. or else you’d be turning B.J.’s face away from us.” Megan turned to the next page. Dum Dum was walking out of a white mist towards a boy standing with his back to her. “So that’s Dum Dum. He does have quite the mustache. I love the twinkle in his eyes. He looks like the solder’s version of Santa Claus, all jolly and welcoming. No wonder B.J. took to him so quickly.”

“Keep going.”

The next page showed the two men standing with B.J. between them. B.J., his face no longer thinned by illness, was wearing the bowler hat, which had magically shrunk to fit. They were all smiling as they looked at Megan from the page. B.J. held his grandfather’s hand and was waving with his other. In all of the sketches, Steve had used mostly black charcoal, then given hints of color and shading with some tinted charcoal pencils, just enough to soften the contrast. Megan had to wipe tears from her eyes.

“There’s one more.”

Megan turned to the last page where the trio were holding hands and walking away from them into the bright mist. B.J. had a smaller version of Steve’s shield strapped to his back. He had turned as he walked and was looking over his shoulder at Megan with a smile that made her choke back a sob. “Give them the set. There’s no choice to make. Let’s take them to be framed tomorrow.”

“They’re not done. I still need to add more color and—”

**My mother does this All The Time. It’s very hard to be satisfied with your own work. When I read my own work, I often find stuff I want to change an fix, too. I think it is very difficult for many people to see when good enough is good enough.**

“They’re perfect as they are. If you make them too vivid, they’ll lose the impact. Right now, it’s like we’re seeing them through a haze. The details are there, just muted by the mists that separate our reality from the next. Sign and date them. If you see something glaring that you just have to touch up, go ahead, otherwise, don’t mess with the look. It won’t bring B.J. back, but I know they’ll treasure these. That was such a powerful moment.” Her tabled chimed with a new message from its spot on the dining room table. “Crap, I forgot I promised to reply immediately that I got the file!” she said, hopping up.

“What are you working on so intensely?”

“Just a little side project,” she hedged, tapping her ear to remind him of their audience. “All part of my grand plan to win our bet. I am not interested in perpetual sexual frustration. You’re still too much of a gentleman and won’t even try to sneak a feel so I clearly need to up my game.”

 

****

They stopped by Megan’s place on the way home Friday so Megan could get her riding clothes and gear. She took a few minutes to clean out the fridge and discard foods that were past their prime. On Saturday morning, they headed to the stable. Steve found a spot on the bleachers in the corner of the arena and sat down with a sketchbook.

She turned in her paperwork and collected a lead rope from where they were hanging by the tack room door. “Any unusual habits I should know about before I go into her stall?”

Courtney nodded. “Pumpkin likes to chew on her halter and lead rope. She’s as sweet natured as any horse I’ve ever known, but she seems to think she should have a rope pacifier.”

**The real Pumpkin does this and it is cute and annoying at the same time. I’ve gotten really good at fast haltering and bridling because of her!**

Megan laughed. “Okay. That should make things interesting.” She took the halter of the stall door and put it over her arm. “Hey, Pumpkin, time to play,” she said as she slid the stall door open just enough to enter. “I see you’re giving me your better side, too. Come on, honey, move your butt over for me.” She pressed gently on Pumpkin’s hip. Pumpkin nickered and swung her hindquarters around. Megan let Pumpkin just stand there for a moment while Megan talked to her and scratched her withers. “I hear you like to chew.” Megan slipped up beside her head and put the halter on before Pumpkin was able to grab it with her mouth. “Nice try, sweetie. Better luck next time.”

She snapped the lead rope on and led Pumpkin to the door, opened it all the way, and led her to the hitching ring closest to where Steve was sitting and watching them. As soon as she was tied, Pumpkin began to chew on the lead, her agile lips working furiously to undo the knots.

“Are you going to stand nicely for me?” Megan continued her idle chatter as she used a curry comb to work the dust and dirt loose and bring it to the surface. Pumpkin kept mouthing her lead rope but was otherwise perfectly behaved while Megan groomed her first with the curry comb and then the stiff brush. Pumpkin lifted her feet politely and didn’t lean her weight on Megan like some horses liked to do.

“I can see why you use her to start riders,” Megan told Courtney as she accepted the saddle from her and placed it gently on Pumpkin’s back. “She has great ground manners.”

“We’d love to have a whole stable filled with horses like her,” Courtney agreed. “She’ll fuss a bit when you tighten the girth, but nothing terrible. Just some breath holding and ear folding.

Megan checked her stirrup length and put the bridle on, using Pumpkin’s constantly moving mouth to her advantage as she slipped the bit in.

Courtney chucked a bit, “She’s not used to begin bridled so quickly. Did you see the look she gave you just now? It’s good for her to work with someone more experienced.”

“I’m no expert, but I can be patient and persistent. She may be bigger, but I’m supposed to be smarter. Do you mind if I mount from the ramp? Since you have one here, I can just swing my leg over and not use the stirrups at all. I know how to mount, but there’s no need to strain her back to keep her balance unless she likes to bolt to a canter before you get seated.”

“That’s fine. I’ll hold her head. She doesn’t like to canter, actually. Trotting is her favorite gait. But she’ll stand while you mount.”

Megan nodded, tightened the girth again, and led Pumpkin over to the wheelchair ramp. Courtney held the bridle while Megan mounted and let go at Megan’s nod. “She’s so wide it’s like sitting on a couch.” She reached down and patted Pumpkin’s neck affectionately. “Okay, girl, let’s see what we can do together.”

For the rest of the hour, Megan was in horse heaven. Pumpkin reminded her of a pouting four year old. Megan would ask, Pumpkin would generally comply, but often with twitching ears and a tossed head when she was firmly kept in line. Keeping her to the rail was the biggest challenge. Pumpkin kept trying to go to the center of the ring and Megan wouldn’t let her. Once Pumpkin realized she wasn’t going to get away with anything, she settled down and began to pay more attention to Megan’s cues without tossing her head.

Courtney was a wonderful instructor who quickly figured out what Megan needed to work on most: keeping her lower legs in the right position, “I think part of the problem is the saddle. It’s too small for you.”

Megan nodded. “I agree. I’ve never had the luxury of a saddle that really fits my long legs. Until I win the lottery, I’ll make do. As long as I’m not slamming on her back at the trot, we’ll manage. Who knows, maybe a saddle that fits will let me finally feel the different diagonals since I won’t be so focused on my lower legs.”

**I have accepted I’ll probably never feel the different diagonals. I keep trying to, but never succeed.**

****

 

“I’m glad you had fun,” Steve told her in the car on the way home.

“You have no idea. I’m going to be sore tomorrow but it’s so worth it to be back on a horse again. Did you see the look on Pumpkin’s face when I made her go through the center of the ring without stopping? She was thinking rather unkind thoughts towards me. But her trot is amazing. She’s so springy. I can’t wait until next week because I’m going to try Mickey. How about you? I saw you made a new friend.”

“I enjoyed watching you. That cat is named Salem. She seemed to be rather determined to attack my pencil so I didn’t get much drawing done.”

“She’s training you to pet her. That’s a cat for you.”

“Listening to you and Courtney was like listening to a foreign language at times. Diagonals, opening reins, half halts. I guess I never really thought about what’s involved in riding well beyond keeping your balance.”

Megan laughed. “Even now, some of the terms throw me. It’s like any athletic activity, I guess. It has a secret code to help everyone explain what you’re trying to do. But we don’t need to talk horses all day. Do you want to stop off at the frame shop on our way back to your place? If you have the receipt with you, we won’t have to hurry later to get there before they close.”

“It’s in my wallet so we can do that. I just assumed you’d want a shower first thing.”

“I never mind smelling like a horse.”

Steve looked askance at her. “That’s just wrong somehow.”

“Hey, you like the smell of the gym don’t you? I like the smell of a horse. Let’s go out for pizza tonight. I haven’t had a good pizza in ages and it will be a good distraction. Tomorrow morning is going to be awful.”

 

****

 

Megan woke the next morning absolutely dreading the day ahead. Breakfast was a sullen affair. They were both quiet while they showered and dressed for the funeral, or rather, Megan was quiet. Steve was angry. Megan realized she’d never seen him like this before. It was a dark, dangerous mood that poured off of him in waves. She kept her distance and held her tongue. There was nothing she could say or do that would change the fact that they were going to the funeral of a little boy who didn’t deserve his fate.

“How can you just sit there?” he growled at her once as he stormed back to his bedroom to try a different shirt to wear under his dress uniform. His cast was causing him problems dressing as it was too thick to fit through the sleeve of his shirt. His hair wasn’t lying flat in front. He was out of distilled water for the iron that he was heating to press his slacks. In short, the universe was being uncooperative and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with it.

Megan took a deep breath and tried to let the comment roll off of her. He hadn’t meant it like that. She stayed at the dining room table, quietly sipping tea while he grumbled. If he wanted help, he could ask for it. Otherwise, she decided, he needed to be grumpy for a bit. At the funeral, he’d hold his emotions in and let the family draw strength from is presence and composure. Right now, he needed the freedom to be a grieving human. He certainly didn’t need her swooping in to his rescue until he was ready for help.

“Megan… please—” his voice broke.

That was her cue.

“How can I help?” she asked cheerfully as she went back to his bedroom where the ironing board was set up.

“I need you to find something to cut the cast off.”

“Wrong answer.” She held up her hand to cut off additional protests. “Trust me, okay?”

He nodded and ran his good hand through his hair. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. It’s just…”

“It’s called being human, Steve. I know why you’re grumpy and it’s alright.” She gave him a hug. “The family is going to lean hard on you today, and that’s one reason why you’re going. But you get to lean on me, okay? Would you like me to iron your shirt?”

“It won’t fit over the cast. Neither will the jacket. I’m serving as pallbearer, and I need to be in uniform.”

“Want, not need.” Megan put her fingers on his lips, silencing the next protest. “And you will be. Take a deep breath. I assume uniform shirts are pretty easy to replace, correct? It’s the dress coat that’s the real challenge.”

He nodded wearily.

“Do you have a sewing kit?”

“Other than the sutures in my med kit, no.”

Megan shook her head, laughing. “Only you! Okay, pull a t-shirt on and get your sling on. We can take care of this at my place. I’ll pack the shirt, tie, and coat in your garment bag. We can iron them at my apartment. Is there anything else you need that isn’t packed in the bag?”

“Just my shield, which we’ll leave in the car.”

“Do you want help tying your shoes, just to make it easier?”

He sighed heavily. “Fine.”

Megan knelt down and helped him put on his dress shoes, then tied them for him. “Steve, I understand why you’re grouchy. It doesn’t bother me. The only way you could hurt me today is by being deliberately cruel and I don’t think that’s likely to happen. If it does, I’ll deal.”

“How can you be so calm about this?”

“Because one of us has to keep it together and you’re closer to this than I am. I’ll do my crying when we get back. Unplug the iron and get your shield. I’ll carry your clothes.”

“Hey,” he grabbed her arm before she was out of reach. “Thank you. You look nice.”

“Thanks. You look confused,” she teased, glancing at the t-shirt he was wearing with his dress uniform slacks and shoes. “Maybe we should get you a cowboy hat and a clown nose to complete the look.”

He bent down so his forehead was touching hers. “B.J. would love that idea.”

**This was really important to me. I wanted to show that Steve is NOT coping well nor is he a perfect man. He’s angry, frustrated, and generally upset. It’s not fair that he’s taking it out on Megan, but often, we are least kind to those we love the most. They are safe and we know they’ll still love us even when we’re jerks. So we let our guard down and snarl and snap in a way we wouldn’t ever allow ourselves to when out in pubic. It’s not okay. but it is very human.**

 

****

 

Steve sat on Megan’s couch and watched her use a seam ripper on his sleeve. “What are you doing to my shirt?”

“I’m taking the seam out of the sleeve so it will fit over your cast. I can sew it back in later. I had to snip the sleeve placket, but I put Fray-Check on it so it won’t ravel today. Your coat sleeve is even easier to open up. I’ll have to hand-stitch the lining back in place later, and it won’t look as good on the inside as it does now, but no one will see any difference from the outside once I repair it. For now, the open seam will be hidden in your sling. You can keep the cast on and still be in dress uniform.” Standing up, she handed him the shirt. “Try this on over your cast. I can open up the seam more if I need to.”

The sleeve easily slid over his wrist.

“Good. Loose the t-shirt and get that on while I work on your jacket. If you need help with your tie, let me know. You need to keep your left arm still, and I know you keep avoiding that little truth. Are you always this bad of a patient?”

“Usually I’m worse,” he admitted a bit sheepishly as he took off his sling and t-shirt.

“You’re lucky S.H.I.E.L.D.’s doctors keep agreeing to patch you up then.”

“I frustrate them. Much of what they learned in medical school doesn’t apply to me.”

Megan eyed him. “You still look human to me.”

He rolled is eyes. “I’m talking about medications. I don’t get infections. Their pain medicines don’t work, and they have to mainline any type of general anesthesia in super-high doses to keep me out for surgery. As long as they can keep me from bleeding out and line things up to heal correctly, I recover.”

“So far. You might want to avoid testing your luck on that too much. There are new pathogens emerging all the time that might take you down fast, among other things.”

“Like what?”

Megan gave him a significant look and pointed to her ears. She wasn’t about to tell their audience about the potential for different toxins and venoms to work or ask Steve what experience he had with them. “Ebola is one example,” she said aloud, covering for him. “Patients dehydrate and bleed out. With time and supportive care, some people pull though, but it’s got a scary-high mortality rate. I wouldn’t want to see you exposed to it.” In fact, she was confident that Steve would be fine since his immune system was so effective at fighting off new pathogens. “Here, try this coat sleeve on over your cast. I want to see if I need to tear more of the seam out.”

Steve’s cast caught the fabric almost immediately.

“Okay, another inch should do it,” she said, sliding it off his arm. “How you keep from sweating to death in this is beyond me. The fabric’s too heavy for summer weather.”

“I’m used to it and it’s not supposed to get really warm until later this afternoon,” he said as he fumbled with his necktie.

“Get your shirt tucked in and I’ll fix your tie. I’m just going to whip stitch this a bit so it doesn’t come apart beyond what I tore out. Why don’t you find something in the freezer to heat up before we go. It’s been awhile since breakfast and we have the services at the church and gravesite to go to.”

Megan finished her adjustments to his jacket while Steve found something for them to eat. In silence, she tied Steve’s necktie and they sat down for a quick brunch. “Why’d you give him Bucky’s nickname?”

“First day I met him, he called me a jerk,” Steve explained.

He went on to tell more about that first meeting and Megan ended up both laughing and crying. Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she tried to compose herself. “You have to share that story at the funeral.

“I’m not scheduled to speak. Besides, I can’t make people laugh at a funeral.”

Megan put her hand on his arm. “Yes, you can. A story like that is about finding the joy and humor in a difficult situation. From what you have told me, that’s what B.J. did every day. A funeral is supposed to celebrate his life. It needs to include the joy he brought to people. A few laughs amidst all of the tears can be healing. Ask B.J.’s parents if you can have a few minutes to share your memories of B.J. with everyone.

**I strongly believe this. Funerals are for the living. My grandmother loved balloons and we had a bunch of bright colored one near her casket in the funeral home. It was part of the person she was, a person who loved bright colors and the magic of helium. Sure, there were tears. But there were smiles and laughter as we remembered the good times. I can’t see that as disrespectful. Rather, it helps us honor the whole person, not just wallow in our legitimate grief and misery.**

 

****

 

Megan sat in the pew behind Steve during the service. He was sitting with the other pallbearers: two uncles and a family friend. It had been hard to watch the four of them carry the tiny casket into the church and up the center aisle to rest in front of the altar. Now, as she listened to speaker after speaker try to offer come comfort and solace, she couldn’t focus on the words. She just kept staring at the white casket, nearly hidden beneath a blanket of red roses, thinking about the little boy who had touched so many lives. She wasn’t even sure if Steve had asked to speak or not. As soon as they’d arrived, she had sent him off to prepare for his role and she had tried to make herself useful, mainly by staying out of the way and fetching a box of tissues when she realized that none had been provided in the front pew for the family.

She was pulled from her thoughts when she noticed Steve standing up in response to a cue she must have missed. Solemnly, he went to the pulpit and met her eyes. She nodded slightly in encouragement.

“My name is Steve Rogers and I’ve been told by someone a lot smarter than me that I should share with you the day I met B.J. for the first time since it does a pretty good job of conveying everything you need to know about B.J.’s personality in just a few minutes. On my days off, I sometimes visit the pediatric units in the local hospitals, especially Children’s National. People think I do it for the kids, but I go because I’m actually pretty selfish and need what the kids give back to me. No matter what kind of mood I’m in when I get there, I get a reminder of what’s really important. I always leave feeling good about the world.

“About a year ago, I was having a pretty bad day and was making my rounds, taking pictures with the kids, talking to them, helping some of them with their blood draws… standard stuff. I thought I was doing a pretty good job of faking a good mood and was starting to feel better when I got to B.J.’s room. He was lying in bed hooked up to all sorts of tubes, wires, and machines than any kid should ever see. Half of them had labels for drugs I’ve never heard of and probably can’t pronounce. He looked at me with those beautiful brown eyes and asked me why I was so sad. He said if I’d sit down and play him a game of cards, he’d try to cheer me up.

“He went on to say if I beat him in a game of crazy eights, he’d give me the bag of M&M’s he’d hidden in the top drawer of his bedside table. When I won, he ducked his head and looked up under his lashes, then called me a jerk under his breath.”

Steve paused, looking around the room. He smiled slightly as he continued, “His mother was mortified. She hadn’t raised her son to act like that. But I was a five-year-old kid sick in bed when my friend Bucky called me a jerk, so I knew exactly what to do. I called him a punk and challenged him to best two out of three. He was Bucky Junior from then on.”

Megan heard a few chuckles break out and she smiled at Steve, nodding encouragement to him. The Captain America facade was slipping away, letting those assembled see the man and not the legend.

Steve continued with growing confidence, “I think that’s when Themba figured out she was actually dealing with two kids, one of whom was just a little bit taller than the other.” He shrugged shyly. “Things degenerated from there. He ended up beating me but sharing his M&Ms. Every time I saw him after that, he had some new names to call me. I think he must have written them down somewhere because he never once repeated himself. I got called brontosaurus breath. frog slime… dinglehopper. That was a new one. If you are not up to date on your Disney movies, that’s what mermaids call forks. I’ve served in the army so I know all sorts of insults. I also know I don’t much like the taste of soap and B.J.’s parents were always sitting right there. I couldn’t keep up with him, so I finally resorted to calling him Russian and German words for different animals without telling him what they words meant.

“The only thing he was afraid of was blood tests. One day, we were playing cards and I was being insulted in new and creative ways, when one of the vampires—that’s what we called the phlebotomists—came in looking for blood. B.J. clammed right up. His parents had told me how much B.J. hated the phlebotomists and wanted to know if I had any ideas. I didn’t, but I happen to have a buddy who is good at that sort of thing…

 

_“What color is your blood, B.J.?” Steve asked, surreptitiously passing a special vacutainer tube and needle to the phlebotomist who was in on the plan._

_“Red,” he said in a meek voice barely louder than a whisper._

_“Are you sure? Mine’s red, white, and blue, the same as all the Howling Commandos.’”_

_“That’s not possible!”_

_“I can prove it. It does take a special needle, though, to collect all the colors. It’s a really big needle. Do you want to see?”_

_B.J. looked at him, eyes wide._

_“Don’t worry, I won’t let Sally use it on you.”_

_B.J. nodded._

_Sally held up the large bore needle. “And this is the one we normally use to collect blood,” she said gently, holding it up beside the first for comparison._

_“That other needle is tiny. No wonder it won’t get all the colors,” Steve observed._

_“You’re joking,” B.J. insisted. “No one has blood with all those colors in it.”_

_“I’m Captain America, B.J. Of course I have red ,white, and blue blood. I’ll prove it,” Steve said, sticking his arm out for Sally. “You watch and let me know what you see.”_

_Sally applied the tourniquet to his arm, cleaned the skin, and then collected a vial of blood in the vacationer tube Steve had given her. Steve watched B.J.’s eyes grow wide as the blood flowed into the tube, separating into different bands of color as it swirled around. Sally removed the tube and handed it to Steve. “All done,” she said, sliding the needle out and putting a Band-Aid over the puncture site._

_“Hey, you gave me a Hulk Band-Aid!” Steve exclaimed. “I’ll have to send him picture of this later.” He handed the vial of blood to B.J. “See? I told you I have all three colors of blood. We can check and see if you have all the colors, too. You should since you’re a Howling Commando now. But if you prefer, Sally can use the little needle and just take the red blood.”_

_“Little needle, please.”_

_“Down in the lab, they only need to test the red blood, so that’s a good choice. Put your arm up here, soldier, and let’s see how well you hold still.”_

_B.J.’s lower lip quivered a bit and he looked at Steve. “It hurts.”_

_“I know, buddy. But you’re brave enough to do it anyway. I want you to squeeze my hand as hard as you can while Sally does her job.”_

_Reluctantly, B.J. put his arm on the table and gripped Steve’s hand. “Wow, that’s quite a grip you have there. Have you been working out in the gym?”_

_B.J. shook his head. His eyes filled with tears as Sally put a tourniquet around his arm and swabbed his inner elbow with alcohol._

_“It hurts less when you don’t watch,” Steve told him. “So while you’re holding my hand as hard as you can, I want you to see if you can find a dent on my shield. If there are any dents, I have to get them fixed. Take a good look and see if you can find any.” Steve held his shield up to the side so B.J. turned away from the blood draw and didn’t see the needle._

_“I don’t see any dents.”_

_“Are you sure? There were a lot of bullets being fired at me last time I was fighting the bad guys. Did you check the edges?”_

_“Uh, huh. The paint is scratched but I don’t see any dents.” B.J. pointed to the worst of the scratches._

_“All done,” Sally said._

_“I’m proud of you for holding so still even though it hurts.” Steve told the boy._

_“What sort of Band-Aid do you want?” Sally asked him. “I have Iron Man, Hulk, Black Widow, and Hawkeye.” Sally said. “I’m all out of Captain America.”_

_“Iron Man. He can fly.”_

_“Can I take a picture of you wearing his Band-Aid to send to him?” Steve asked._

_B.J. nodded and posed with a grin as Steve took the picture._

_“Give me just a second and I’ll send it to him,” Steve said, adding a note that this was B.J. and the special vacutainer had worked beautifully.”_

_His phone pinged a minute later. “Awesome Band-Aid! He picked the most handsome Avenger, so clearly he is brilliant as well as brave. Tell him I’m proud of him. —T.S.” Steve showed him the message and helped him read it. “That’s from Iron Man himself,” he told the boy._

“Thanks to B.J. and the phlebotomists at Children’s National, I’m now jabbed multiple times during each of my visits there. The staff have found that giving the children a choice about what color of blood we’re going to sample makes them more likely to cooperate, even when I’m not there to help. We all think of him every single time a blood test is a bit easier for a child to deal with. He made the hospital experience better for thousands of children and will do so for decades to come. That’s his legacy.” Turning his gaze to the casket, he added, “I miss you, Punk.”

Once Steve was seated, Megan reached forward and briefly put her hand on his shoulder, well aware of how he was struggling to maintain his composure. He’d only told her about the name calling and had added the story of the blood draws on his own. Together, they painted a vivid picture of a precocious young man bringing joy to the people who knew him. She wished she had been given the chance to know him better.

**Yes, I was bawling as I wrote this. Take some handwaving science from Tony, add some feels from Steve as he narrated, and you get real tears as I type.**

 

***

 

Back at Steve’s apartment, Megan pulled lunchmeat from the fridge and assembled sandwiches while Steve changed out of his dress uniform. She considered a moment, then decided to heat the rest of the soup, too.

Steve came out of the bedroom dressed only in a pair of jeans, carrying his sling and t-shirt in his hand. He laid them on the breakfast bar saying, “I’m not hungry.”

“Too bad. I noticed at the funeral dinner that you ate a third of what you normally do. Your body is hungry even if you don’t feel like eating. It was a nice service. I’m glad B.J.’s family has all of that support.” She set a large sandwich down in front of Steve. “Sit. Eat.”

“I forgot to give them the sketches.”

“I took care of it. When we went back to the funeral home after the graveside service, I gave the box to the funeral director when you were talking to B.J.’s parents about the dinner. They’ll deliver it later today when they take the floral arrangements to their house. I wrote them a note so they know what it is before they open it. That way they can do it when they’re ready. It might be too raw for them to deal with right now.”

“Yeah.” Steve just stared as his sandwich.

“Do I need to force feed you?” Megan asked as she ladled the soup into two bowls and set them on the bar. “I can do that.”

Steve closed his eyes and shook his head. “It’s just…”

Megan put her hand on his. “Have you ever stopped to think about why funerals are traditionally followed by dinners?”

He shook his head slowly. “No.”

“Eating is life. The communal meal is a reminder that those left behind have to go on living but they are doing it together.”

“I need to _run_.”

“I have an idea about how to get you some exercise but you’ll have to eat before I tell you what my solution is.”

“Megan, I’m not in the mood….”

“Do you honestly think I’m flirting with you right now?” Megan scoffed. “You have a one-track mind just like every other man on the planet. I’m talking about real exercise. But I won’t tell you my idea until you eat all of the food in front of you, so tuck in.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She changed out of her own dress clothes before joining him for lunch. As she’d predicted, Steve ate heartily once he set his mind to it.

He put his plate and bowl in the dishwasher. “What’s your idea?”

“One handed push-ups. You’ll work your core without stressing the wound on your leg or your broken arm. Do enough of them and you might even get tired.”

“I should have thought of that.”

Megan shook her head. “You needed to heal all over last week.” She handed him the sling. “I forgot to add that you have to do them while holding me, so don’t bother with your shirt. The extra weight will give you more of a challenge and wear you out faster.”

He gave her a sheepish grin but put the sling on.

“Balance wise, is it easier for me to sit on your back or lie down on you?”

“Let’s try lying down.”

He led her into the living room where there was more space and dropped to the floor. Megan lay down on top of him, wrapping her arms around his chest while laying the tops of her feet on his ankles. She let her head rest on the curve of his neck.

He fell into a steady rhythm and she felt his muscles play under her hands as he did push-up after push-up while she did her best to stay still and centered over his back. “I’m quite disappointed, you know,” she said after awhile. “You’re supposed to be a superhero and you can’t do no-handed push ups.”

**As someone who has never been able to do a push-up, I am totally with Megan here.**

She heard a huff of amusement but he didn’t break his rhythm.

He finally spoke a few minutes later, “It’s not as good as running, but I think this might work.”

“It’s extremely unfair that you’re not even breathing hard. Wake me when you’re done,” she teased gently. She resisted the urge to let her hands stray. That would come later, when he started to tire and needed some extra motivation.

He didn’t weaken for a long time. And even then, she felt the signs in his muscles long before he began to slow his pace. It gave her a new appreciation for his abilities, both physical and mental, to feel the fatigue spreading across his back—betrayed by small muscle twitches and spasms—and realize that he wasn’t letting it stop him. The fact he’d been at it almost an hour, just a week after being seriously injured, was nearly impossible to comprehend. She was immensely grateful that Dr. Eskrine had chosen someone like Steve to receive the responsibility of being a super soldier. She didn’t want to imagine what sorts of damage he could do if he were an individual motivated by greed or lust for power.

Finally, the sustained effort caught up to him. He faltered once, twice, then lay on the floor.

“Is that all you’ve got? Try for ten more.”

He grunted but rose beneath her. She felt his arm shake as he forced himself to keep going, though he had to pause before each repetition. When he was still once more, she rolled off of him and lay on the floor beside him. “Try ten more now.”

He glowered at her but forced his body up. The last two push-ups were especially difficult, but he held his form and completed all ten before he lay panting in a puddle of sweat.

“Tired yet? Or are you up to a walk?”

“I can walk.”

“Good.” Megan got up and stretched a bit, feeling stiff from holding still for so long. “You get your shirt on and I’ll mop up the floor. Drink some water before we go. If you keel over from dehydration there is no way I can carry you back here.”

He nodded, still trying to catch his breath.

“Is your head clear yet?”

“Yeah. It was a good idea.”

“I’ll never understand what you find so pleasurable about sweating and pushing yourself to collapsing, but if it works, all the power to you. I’m quite content to play dead weight for you.” She ran her hands over his chest. “I can’t promise I’ll always stay quite so still. I might just test you to see how well you can focus.”

She laughed at the glare he gave her and went to the kitchen to fetch some paper towels.

**I hate exercise. I envy those who enjoy it. For me, I do it because I should, not because I feel better after (I don’t) or because it's fun (It’s not.) Put me on a horse or let me read a book. I wish it were otherwise.**

 


End file.
